


Dive In

by alexxxford



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alcoholic Stiles, Dr Derek, Forbidden Love, Laura Hale is alive, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Poor vulnerable babies, Recovery, Rehabilitation, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Teen Wolf AU, Trigger Warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4505889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxxford/pseuds/alexxxford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hollywood has never been kind to its young stars and Stiles Stilinski was no exception. After a long downward spiral of self neglect and alcohol Stiles finally snaps. The result: court ordered rehab.</p><p>Derek Hale is a junior doctor who's had a tough ride. Perhaps specialising in alcoholism wasn't his smartest decision. He's learnt not to become attached to his patients and with one more case to get through he can finally finish those 7 torturous years of training.</p><p>Stiles and Derek butt heads immediately, with personalities that couldn't be more different it's certain to be a painful 3 months for all involved.</p><p>[Daily Updates]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ethanol - also commonly called  alcohol, produced by the fermentation of sugars by yeasts. It is a neurotoxic

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic about 18 months ago and have just rediscovered it so thought I may as well post it (it's completed so will update frequently).
> 
> Warnings- This fic is set in rehab. It deals more with recovery than actual addiction. Substance abuse trigger warnings (please don't read if this is a sensitive topic for you).  
> Withdrawals/Recovery are unique for everyone and this is obviously a work of fiction so I don't promise any of this is fact. (Obviously relationships between staff/patients is not/should never be an actual thing).
> 
> Ifthe wonderful person who beta'd this reads it please comment so I can credit you!
> 
> Lastly, I take criticism harshly, so please just don't read if you don't like it! And yeah I know this troupe has been done to death ;p

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles arrives at rehab and briefly meets the staff.

Stiles tilts his blue Ray Bann wayfarers down his nose in order to get a good look through the tinted window of the sleek black Lexus IS 250 they’d rented in an attempt to look inconspicuous when passing through town. His PR team had deemed Stiles R8 as too obvious. It was yellow with a 5T1LES number plate so he could see where they were coming from… Not that it even mattered. The story about him punching one the crew members on his show had been all over the glossy pages for a fortnight, as had the coverage of his court hearing. Everyone with even a mild interest in Hollywood and celebs knew he was checking into rehab this weekend.

“But they don’t know which one” he’d been reminded.  Peeking out at them through thick white fog and an even thicker forest of trees is the Beacon Hills Reserve Rehab Clinic. It’s perched halfway up one of the hills circling a small sleepy town way further north in California than Stiles cared to visit.  The building didn’t look how Stiles had imagined. He’d pictured tall, imposing concrete walls with loops of barbed wire sat upon twelve inch fences… okay so he had a flare for the dramatic. He was an actor. And yeah, maybe he could have agreed to read the brochures and look at the pictures when Erica had all but thrust them at him but he liked surprises.  In reality the clinic was modern and homely, the ground floor was practically all windows, overlooking the forests and the walls of the second and third floors were wooden. It looked like one of those houses you see pictures online and wonder if anyone actually lives there. It was more like a glorified forest cabin than an exclusive rehab facility. He crinkled his nose. 

It was early evening and the sky was grey but warm yellow lights lit the building inside and out. It would almost look inviting after the three hour car journey if he hadn’t spotted the welcoming comity already there on the steps awaiting him. 

Stiles holds up his blackberry, jamming the buttons with his thumbs and growls frustrated.  

“I have no 4G” he glares at Erica, his PA, as if it’s her fault. She just rolls her eyes, so used to his crap. 

“You’re not gonna be needing it” she shrugs. 

“Yes. I am” 

“In fact...” she hooks the phone out of his hands in a swift movement. “You won’t be needing that at all!” 

Stiles grabs for his phone madly but Erica sits on it, fending him off. They fight like kids until their chauffer comes round and pops Stiles door open.  He gives Erica one last glare and backs out of the vehicle. 

Erica climbs out of the passenger side, rounding the car to a pouting Stiles and patting him on the back. “Don’t worry baby bro, I’ll keep it safe ‘til you’re back”  

“Yeah, if I ever come back!” he grumbles as a well-built man in a long white lab coat approaches them. He’s wearing a warm smile but Stiles isn’t in the mood for pleasantries.  

The chauffer, Carlton, fetches his bags from the boot of the car, dropping them down at Stiles feet and when Erica proceeds to the building slyly hands Stiles his phone. 

Stiles beams at him. “Thanks dude!” he says enthusiastically, quickly hiding it in his back pocket.  

Carlton hesitates for a moment, as if he wants to say something to his employer of five years, wish him luck or something, but Stiles offers him no entrance, already going for his bags, and he obviously thinks better of it, bowing gently and disappearing back into the front of the shiny black saloon. 

He struggles down the gravel to the building with his two suitcases and a duffel. Everyone waits on the steps, no one offers him a hand until he reaches them, and even then it’s to shake and not to help. 

“MrStilinski, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Doctor Deaton, I’m the head physician here” the man at the front says. He’s clearly in charge, in fact the name rings a bell. He’s pretty sure Erica had raved about him when they’d tried to pick a suitable place. He looks to be in his late forties. He has a shaved head, warm eyes, dark skin and a friendly looking face. He’s also the one doing the hand extending to Stiles, who stares at it for a moment before reluctantly shaking it, one brief shake, before slipping his hand out of his and stuffing it back into the pocket of his dark red hoody, hood now up. 

Erica steps in as always, shaking Deaton’s hand with much more enthusiasm. “It’s great to meet you! I’m Erica, I’m Stiles sister-“ 

“ _Step_ -sister” Stiles cuts in. She’s use to it and doesn’t even flinch. 

“-I’m so glad you were able to find a place for Stiles. Let me tell you though, you have got your work cut out for you!” she chuckles, following the Doctor into the building that is to be his prison for three long months. 

He’s about to follow when he realises he’s once again been left with all his bags and he _can’t_ get them all up the steps. He hadn’t packed much, and he’d been considerably intoxicated when he had packed, but the two cases and a duffel was more than he’d had to carry for himself in a long while. In fact, anything over his Starbucks he considered to be too much. But apparently no one here was going to help and okay, _physically_ , he could manage. So begrudgingly he lifts his own bags and follows Deaton and Erica. 

Despite it being late he was given the grand tour of the place. It has twenty five rooms, of which seventeen are currently occupied. There is a kitchen with a real chef who has worked on cruise ships. Meals are served three times a day with hot or cold options. There’s a games room, a TV room, a quiet room and a library as well as outdoor sports facilities behind the main building. Other than that it’s just clinical rooms. There are five resident doctors alongside Deaton, who had opened the clinic in 2006 after getting his PhD in Psychology (he has a certificate, it looks more official than the ‘best dad’ one Stiles had made for his dad for father’s day in primary school). There was Dr. Hale, Dr. Finstock, Dr. Martin, Dr. Greenberg and Dr. Harris, all of who are trained in both mental and physical health. Every day there are workshops and classes to help the residents on their path to recovery, blah blahblah.  Almost an hour later he is left with Erica at the doorway to his new room, 204, a nice number, he supposes.

“It’s tiny” he points out, peering in unenthusiastically. 

“It’s... clean?” Erica suggests. The room is about seven foot wide and ten foot long. It’s white and sterile with minimal furniture; a small single bed on the right wall, a wardrobe at the foot. A desk sits on the far wall and a well worn armchair to the left. The floor is wooden and a large window covers most of the back wall offering a view across the forest and in the distance, the town. It’s okay. He supposes. Instinctively he wanders over to it, turning the latch and trying to open it. The window creaks open about 4 inches before becoming locked.  He bites his lip, immediately wanting to put his fist through it, _there, now it’s open,_ but that won’t help his cause and he somehow manages to resist.  He turns back to look at Erica in some vain hope that she will have realised how ridiculous this whole thing is but she’s actually smirking. “Oh how the mighty have fallen,” she shakes her head. No one, literally no one but Erica would get away with speaking to Stiles like that. When Erica’s mum had started dating Stiles’ father Stiles had been livid. No one could replace his wonderful, beautiful, caring mother.  But Lucy Reyes, well, she was kind of wonderful in her own way. Where she was a complete push over with her daughter, she had a firm hand with Stiles’ dad, keeping him on track, cooking him healthy dinners, making sure he slept _at least_ seven hours a night and beers on weekends only. Oh and occasionally game days when they fell on a Wednesday, but that was all!   Erica was a year older than him. Fifteen when they moved in, and no more pleased about her new family than Stiles. She’d tortured him mercilessly for months. It wasn’t until one day at school they’d finally clicked. She’d never so much as acknowledged Stiles outside of their house until she’d spotted some of the seniors, three years older than her, picking on Stiles. She’d marched straight over, kicked Louie Greenwall where the sun doesn’t shine and given them a what-for that would have scared anyone. 

Stiles can’t even be angry at her when he tries. At least not when he’s so sober. He tries not to smile as he gestures dramatically to his bed. “This. Is a camp bed!” he declares exasperated. 

Erica bites her fist to stop herself from laughing. “You might say, _you’ve made your bed, now you have to-“but_ she’s cut offby the pillow Stiles launches at her head. 

“This is so not funny!” he wails. “I hate how much _joy_ you are getting out of this” 

But slowly the smile slips from Erica’s face and that unfamiliar sadness he keeps seeing shutters her eyes. She smiles again but this time it’s more of a grimace. “ _Oh Stiles”_ she sighs. “You idiot” 

He crosses the room and catches her in a hug, something they very rarely do. He fists the back of her jumper in his hands, burying his nose in her hair and breathing in her familiar scent. She smelt of vanilla and cinnamon and it made Stiles think of home. Shit. He was missing it already, which was ridiculous because he hadn’t been back home in months.  He pulled away quickly before his emotion got any more intense. 

“Erica...” he starts to say but she forces a watery smile, cupping his cheek with her hand, she taps it.  

“Just... get better okay?” 

He nods and watches silently as she picks up her handbag, a black Chloe he’d got her for her birthday just gone, and leaves. 

Stiles looks about the room for a moment as it finally sinks in where he is. He’d found out three weeks ago at his hearing that he was ordered to complete three months court-ordered rehabilitation in which he was to prove sobriety.   It had sounded like hell but had seemed a way away and was a much better alternative than possible jail time. 

He unzipped his suitcase. He didn’t bother unpacking, instead he dug around for his grey linen pajama pants and decided to simply go to bed. It was barely nine pm but what else could he do. 

 

He wakes up to a loud knocking on his door. Rubbing his eyes he wearily edges himself up onto his elbows.  It takes him a moment to orientate to where he is and why the hell he’s in a tiny little bed with a lumpy mattress and scratchy sheets. He remembers Erica ranting on about _‘two-thousand dollars for Egyptian sheets?!’_ But they had just been the first ones he’d picked up at Bed, Bath and Beyond. He hadn’t bothered checking the price. (Not that it mattered but he’d never in his wildest dreams expected any sheets to cost that much!) Now they seemed well worth it.  The realisation that he was where he was hits him a moment later like a punch in the gut. Bile rises in his throat and an intense sinking feeling settles in his stomach. He drops back down onto the bed just as the door flies open and he shoots up again in shock. 

“I didn’t-“ he begins. 

“I’m sorry I-“ the intruder gasps at the same time, holding his hands out to shield his eyes. 

“It’s okay, I’m decent” Stiles mutters, reluctantly propping himself up against the wall so that he can glare at the young man who’s just woke him up. The kid doesn’t look any older than Stiles. He offers a lopsided yet guilty smile, gingerly stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He’s tanned with thick dark hair and a kind of crooked jaw. He’s wearing black skinny jeans and skate shoes with a white uniform tunic which looks kind of ridiculous but Stiles can appreciate the small act of rebellion.  

“Sorry!” he repeats. “I thought...” 

“You thought I’d escaped?” Stiles quirks an eyebrow, because he had just woken up, in rehab, and this poor kid is the first person he’s come across to take it out on. 

“Wha- no! No I... it’s nearly 10. Um, breakfast is between 8 and 9... But I err...it’s your first day and I didn’t know how far you’d travelled and er...” he lifts his left hand and shakes a brown paper bag. “Muffins. I can show you where to get a coffee in a bit…” 

As amusing as it is to watch his new acquaintance squirm he must be losing it because he already feels a little guilty so forces himself to interrupt. “It’s okay. I don’t... I’m not a morning person.” 

“Right! Okay. Shit. I’m Scott! I...” he steps further into the room, towards Stiles and extends his hand. “I’m Scott, I’m... your nurse” 

Stiles snorts, ignoring his outstretched hand which he lowers uncomfortably. “Nurse?” he snorts. “But you’re a man!” 

He holds his hands up in defence but credit to him doesn’t take the bait. 

“I mean, I don’t have a problem with it… but you know, it’s one of the only things I had to look forward to: a fit nurse” 

Scott opens his mouth, his brows pulling together indignantly but again he obviously thinks better of it and changes the topic. “I err... Dr Deaton is expecting to see you at half past. It’s kind of a mandatory...  _assessment._ You’ll need a health check, etcetera. He does all the paper work and then we all get a copy, so you don’t get asked the same questions over and over...” 

“I already had a health check. Before I was ‘ _accepted’,_ ” he says, air quote around accepted because it suggests he _applied_ rather than being slapped with a court order and given a choice of four clinics by his step sister. He’d just picked the smallest one, furthest from home. 

Scott nods. “Yes um... well another one, I’m afraid. Alcohol withdrawal is complicated. Just... don’t be late, okay? And I’ll see you after” 

So this is his nurse. Not the leggy blond he’d been picturing, and not really his type but yeah, that was probably a good thing. The kid seemed nice too. Easy going; so they could probably get along. Plus Stiles was pretty sure he could have him wrapped around his little finger in no time so the kid passed his test. 

“Er, is there a shower in this place?” he asks just as Scott’s about to leave. 

“Down the hall. The last door on the left” 

“ _Communal?”_ he gasps a little outraged, because he hasn’t shared a shower since high school P.E, and it had been traumatic enough then! 

Scott just gives a low chuckle, shaking his head and disappears out the door. 

 _God help me_ Stiles mutters, laying down again and huffing out a frustrated breath. This was going to be the worst day ever, he could just feel it.  Ten minutes later Stiles finally manages to persuade his non-compliant body up off of the camp bed, which actually hadn’t been so uncomfortable, not that Stiles would admit it. Erica will be getting a detailed report about how thoroughly dreadful his first night had been. He’d slept like a log. 

Begrudgingly and unenthusiastically he pads down the hall, towel under one arm, wash bag and change of clothes under the other.  There were three shower cubicles designated for the men. The kind of cubicles that started mid shin and stopped no more than two inches above Stiles head. Lucky he’s not shy. 

After fiddling with the dial for a few minutes he manages to balance the water heat somewhere between arctic blizzard to volcanic lava and is safe to strip off and get in. He hums obnoxiously loud to himself as he washes. The shower washes away the sweat and grime of the day before journey and he begins to feel a little better, a little more like himself.   He was using Erica’s apple body wash. He hadn’t thought to pack his own so she’d given him hers begrudgingly on the spur of the moment. The smell took him back home, his dad’s house in San Francisco where he’d grown up.  He felt his muscles slowly relax as the tension he’d been holding there since his trial began nearly a month ago begins to ease.  

He closes his eyes, pushing soap through his hair and nodding his head, forgetting for just a moment and singing loudly, power fisting. 

 _‘_ _In touch with the ground I'm on the hunt I'm after you Smell like I sound, I'm lost in a crowd And I'm hungry like the wolf!_ _’_  

Whacking off the water he gathers his bits and pieces up under his arm and reverses out of the shower to grab his towel, still head banging, mumbling the chorus.   A cough startles him into silence, he’d totally forgotten he wasn’t actually alone. He spins around with a yelp, dropping his toiletries across the white tiled floor and nearly skidding, grabbing hold of the shower _door,_ which of course swings open and the whole thing is just a mess and he’s pretty sure he’s pulled a muscle in his shoulder now. 

The man, the cause of all this, just watches, one eyebrow raised in what can only be described as irritation. 

“Dude!” Stiles yells but is offered no apology. He glares but he feels his expression visibly soften when he gets a good look at the intruder. Holy mother of hell, the poster boy of fireman’s calendars stands before him wearing only a small white towel tucked round his narrow waist. It’s low as well. Like, _really_ low. The v of his hips… Stiles gulps, forcing his eyes up. His arms are folded across his chest, accentuating his biceps and peck’s and... Stiles jaw drops a little. Nowhere is safe to look. And okay, he is _totally forgiven._  

“Duran Duran, bit before your time, no?” he asks in a flat, gruff voice, now looking a little uncomfortable under Stiles gaze. Stiles shakes his head to wake himself out of his daydream, trying not to be even more enamoured because _dude knows his jam!_ Mr. December turns back to the bench, picking up his own shower gel and flannel. “You always sing 80’s in the shower?” 

“Usually. Why, would you prefer something more up to date? I was about to leave but, I can stay and sing for you if you’d like? I go all the way through nineties, we’re talking MC Hammer, Vanilla Ice, you know John Farnham? You’re the Voiceis another favourite, I can teach-” he was babbling. He’s actually relieved when the guy cuts him off. 

“I think it would do you well to remember this is not your personal shower room,” he snaps before disappearing into the cubicle next to Stiles’. 

Stiles stands rooted to the spot for a minute, trying to think of a witty comeback but with a click the loud roaring of the strangers shower disturbs him and makes it impossible to think. Well, maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the thought of where that water is. What it’s doing. The body it’s caressing… Oh god, he hasn’t got laid in _sooo_ long, it’s a crime. 

He shakes his head and dries himself roughly, careful to keep the towel away from his manhood which is enjoying the idea of a communal shower way more than the rest of him.  _Focus Stiles. That’s is so NOT the reason you’re here._ And wanders back to his room. He has five minutes before Doctor Deaton expects him which is plenty of time to go and find some comfier boxers and drop Erica a quick text to let her know the torture he’s injuring and how he’s almost looking forward to seeing her. 

 _‘Be strong. Do it for dad x’_ Comes the quick response, and yeah okay, point taken. So he changes and hurries out of his room, only five minutes late and with a renewed determination to just get on with this.

 


	2. Chlordiazepoxide - the first benzodiazepine to be synthesized, purely chance. It makes people feel less agitated and less tense.S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has his first check up's with both Deaton and Derek. Of course, neither go great.

Stiles is sat uncomfortably in a blue swivel chair across from Dr Deaton, who sits the other side of a large mahogany desk, typing away on his computer. They’ve been almost silent since Stiles arrived five minutes ago, ten minutes later than scheduled (he couldn’t find his pants and had to charge up his phone to text Erica). Bracing his foot on the floor he swings slightly to the left then right, twiddling his thumbs in his lap, huffing out an awkward breath, casting his gaze out the window to his right that overlooks the side of the hill that leads down towards the small sprawling town, then finally back across at the doctor who is sat across from him, now flicking through a buff folder. He casts his eyes up to the clock mounted on wall overhead. It’s nearly 11. He would usually be having his first drink about now. The directors were used to him by now so rarely called for him early. They’d rather rearrange the days filming schedule than actually have to deal with the problem. He usually rolled out of bed around 10, showered, and had a quick drink to settle his nerves before appearing on set.

“Soooo…” he chokes out, clamping his sweaty hands on the seat beneath him and reverting to his second favourite pastime: talking. “Er, that kid, Scott mentioned a health check? But I already had one-“

“You’ll need another” Dr Deaton cuts in gruffly, eyes not leaving the sheet he’s currently looking at.

“Oh” Stiles looks down at his lap and sighs, rubbing his palms across his thighs. Why are they sweating? It makes no sense because it’s pretty cool in the office. He’s aware of his heart rate, a little faster than usual. Perhaps he’s going mad. Like the beginning of flu. Like if he had half a liter of gin in him right now this whole thing would be a lot easier.

A few moments later Doctor Deaton finally drops the file down, but instead of addressing Stiles he simply reaches over and begins typing, keeping him waiting for a few more minutes before finally switching his monitor off and opening Stile case file.

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Stilinski, it’s been a busy morning. So, how’re you feeling?”

Stiles has been trying to read his notes since the doctor put them down, but upside down reading is hard. He’s concentrating and doesn’t answer straight away. “Huh? Oh er...” he shrugs and leans back in the chair. “Yeah, fabulous” he gulps. The doctor had been reading his criminal record. It was, well, not exactly clear.

“Scott said he woke you up at ten?”

“Yeah, not a morning person” he opens his palms out, feigning innocence.

Deaton nods, pulling a fresh sheet of yellow lined paper from his top draw and beginning to jot down notes, which, ahem, _rude_. Stiles manages to resist the overwhelming urge to lean forwards and read them too.

“And how are you feeling p _hysically._ ”

He takes a moment to think through his answer. He doesn’t feel _too bad_. He never particularly feels good, and he’d expected to feel a lot worse. But then again, he assumed the effects of alcohol withdrawal wouldn’t have started yet. It’s not like he was literally drunk 24/7. It was a coping mechanism. He could, if need be, go twenty four hours without a drink. On occasion. Erica had spent the last fortnight reading the side effects of alcohol withdrawal to him but so far apart from being a little dizzy and a little sweaty (yeah attractive), he was alright.

“Not bad” he shrugs again.

“But not good?” Deaton counters, shutting him up.

“I haven’t... there’s been no side effects if that’s what you wanted to know” he tells him straight, managing to hold unblinking eye-contact.

“It’s normal for the side effects not to kick in straight away”

Stiles nods. “So I’ve still got that to look forward to”

Deaton spends the next half an hour trying to get conversation from Stiles which, yeah, is easy, if you don’t mind the topic, but he wanted to know about Stiles aims and goals and set measurable targets or something and Stiles kept trying to change the subject.

“You know beer is actually one of the oldest beverages humans have consumed? There’s evidence of it as early as 5 millenniums _BC-_ “

“Stiles your constant change of subject signals denial to me”

“Denial of what?”

“Your condition”

“I don’t- I don’t have a condition. I just...” He splutters. Deaton quirks an eyebrow as if Stiles has just proved his point but he hasn’t. Stiles isn’t an alcoholic. He drinks because he _wants_ to, not because he _needs_ to. There’s a difference! “Whatever. I’m here aren’t I?”

He eventually gives up, scribbling down a few more notes and tucking the folder away before Stiles has a chance to see what’s been said about him and pulling out some sheets from his top draw. It’s a list of medication Deaton wants to put Stiles on. “Providing your doctor agrees after your check up”

“Er... that’s not... necessary... is it?” he scowls. _Chlordiazepoxide **,** Haloperidol, Thiamine, Folic Acid and PRN Paracetamol and Oxynorm. ?Methodone. _

“Benzodiazepines will help your withdrawal, minimizing the symptoms. Haloperidol is for your... shakes. Then there’s vitamins you showed deficiency in. And optional pain relief.”

“ _Pain?”_ Stiles repeats a little taken aback.

Deaton just gives him a kind smile and with a gentle hand between his shoulder blades leads him out down the corridor and off into a locked side room.

“The nurses will administer your medication for your first few weeks. After that I’ll sort out a blister pack for you.”

“You know, I’ve always preferred a good stiff drink over drugs.” It was a joke, but the doctor didn’t laugh.

“You have the afternoon free. Tomorrow after lunch you have an appointment with your doctor. Here’s your appointment, I hope it goes well” Stiles looks down at the note. _‘Dr Hale. Room 106. 2:30pm.’_ Brilliant.

 

He spends the afternoon exploring the building and finds himself exhausted by nine and decides to get another early night. Maybe he is reformed!

The next day Stiles strolls down the hall and picks up his lunch in a canteen not so different from the one his high school had had but with less variety. The majority of what’s on offer is hot. The two choices today are Mac ‘n’ Cheese or fish and chips but Stiles can’t even think about fancying either of those and manages to find a cheese sandwich and some Cheetos which will do him. The dinner lady he finds has no sense of humor, she just glares at him when he asks if he can get a beer, and slams down his can of Sprite (which of course he forgets about and opens all over himself but yeah okay, maybe he deserved that).

He finds a smallish table unoccupied in the corner where he can observe his new _‘inmates’_ without being disturbed. He slides into a hard plastic chair. His hands shake a little as he pops open his crisps, tucking a few in his sandwich and taking a huge bite, eyes scanning the room.

The hall was long and thin, maybe fifteen feet wide and thirty long. On the left wall were the food counters, and on the opposite wall there were large sliding double doors leading to the lounge area that had sofas and a large flat screen and lots of book shelves that Stiles hadn’t had the chance to check out. He’d overheard someone mention an Xbox but he’d yet to locate it.

“You’re… Stiles Stilinski?”

Stiles head snaps up as a tray slides across the table into his vision.

“Is this seat taken?”

Stood across from him is another young one, tall and slim with light curly hair and innocent eyes boring into Stiles.

“Er, no? You another member of staff?”

The kid laughs, pulling out the chair with a loud squeak and dropping down into it, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. “No, no way!” he says around them.

“How did you know who I am then?” he asks suspiciously. He’s not trying to be rude, it’s just the kid really does not look like he belongs her. He’s got a fresh face and despite being lanky looks healthy, like he’s got everything ahead of him. Not worn out and used up like Stiles who’s probably only a year older or so older than him. Never one to stereotype but he just seems way too naïve to be an alcoholic or a drugs user.

“Are you kidding? Dude, I’ve watched your show for years! Like, religiously. My god, I can’t believe you’re actually here!” And Stiles still wouldn’t have believed him if it wasn’t for the awe in his eyes.

Stiles actually feels a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at his plate. He’d always found it awkward dealing with fans. He never felt like he’d really done anything worthy of it. It wasn’t as if he wrote the scripts. And he’d played the character so long it wasn’t even like acting, he just had to memorize lines.

“Guess you’re not gonna be in the new season” the boy realises out loud, sounding genuinely saddened.

“Hey, I’m trying to persuade them to have me die in like, a really dramatic and gory way. Like, get one last episode” Stiles says brightly but it doesn’t seem to resolve the kid.

They eat in silence for a bit. Stiles keeps trying to think of something to say or mentally willing the kid to get up and leave but neither happen. Eventually his intruder breaks the awkwardness.

“I’m Isaac by the way. I’ve been here a while so, if you need any help with anything, just ask!”

“Oh. Thanks! I do have, I’m supposed to have this _medical check_ with Doctor Hale” he scrambles in his back pocket for the note Deaton had written him earlier, locating it and flattening it onto the table for Isaac who’s eyes pop.

“This says 2:30?”

“Yeah..”

“That was ten minutes ago!” Isaac declares horrified, jumping up and gesturing for Stiles to follow as he practically _runs_ from the canteen.

“What’s going-“ Stiles pants, unable to keep up.

“Doctor Hale will be _mad_ if you’re late!”

“They said that about Deaton” Stiles grumbles as they skid to a stop outside the last door of a corridor they’d followed off to the left. Isaac knocks three times then gives Stiles a pitying smile.

“Good luck, I’ll catch you later”

Stiles gapes as Isaac vanishes back down the hall. Before he can really decide what’s going on the door in front of him is yanked open, a cool breeze of air ghosting over him. He looks up and stumbles backward. _No way._ Surely he hasn’t done anything bad enough to deserve this?

“You” Doctor Hale, who is apparently the guy from the showers the other morning spits.

“Holy…” Stiles trails off as Doctor Hale turns on his heels and stalks back into his room. He hesitates a moment before following.

“Hoody off” he snaps, opening cupboards and pulling out random medical paraphernalia.

“Yes sir” Stiles mumbles, sliding his dark green hoody off, feeling immediately cold.

“You can take a seat on the bed” The doctor instructs, turning and waiting for him to hop up. He grabs his arm, pushing his fingers into the pulse point and watching the clock for a minute. “94” he mumbles as he jots it down and comes back at Stiles with a black cuff which his fastens around his upper arm. “I’m gonna take your blood pressure, it may be a little uncomfortable” he tells him with less emotion than if he was reading a street sign off to himself. This guy could voice stat nav! Although maybe not, Stiles may fall asleep from boredom…

“Yeah this whole thing is uncomfortable” Stiles grumbles, holding out his arm, shivering as Derek presses the cool metal end of his stethoscope to the inside of Stiles elbow after quickly locating his brachial pulse.

The doctor pumps up the cuff quickly and effectively, letting it down shortly after. Stiles watches with bored interest. This guy is a total dick but Stiles can’t help but still be admiring his inhumanly perfect facial structure and his mind is flashing back to him in a small white towel and..

“139 over 83, little higher than I’d expect. You relaxed?”

He snaps his head, blushing. Relaxed? No, picturing you naked. Definitely not relaxed. “Sure” he squeaks out. Next he’s getting poked in the ear and told his temperature is fine. Then the needles come out.

“I’ve got to do a blood test. Are you okay with needles?”

“I’m sure I’m better with needles than you are with people” Stiles grits out as he has a tourniquet pulled tight around his bicep. Doctor Hale leans back and raises an eyebrow at him unimpressed and Stiles eyes drop to the needle in his hand and he thinks that maybe he should pick his moments a little more selectively. “Sorry” he mutters stroppily.

Derek pulls his arm into compliance, leaning to the left to allow maximum light to fall on it and tapping and poking. “Think I’m gonna go in there..” he mutter to himself, lining up the needle. “Have you ever been an intravenous drugs user?”

“Wha-?” Stiles chokes as the needle slides in. He automatically scrunches his eyes shut, belatedly tensing, bracing for the pain, but he needn’t have worried. It doesn’t exactly hurt. Its uncomfortable, a sharp burn, over in a second. Stiles shuffles, popping one eye open to look down at the needle breaching his pale white skin as Derek attaches a pink capped tube and lets it fill, popping it off and replacing it with a gold capped one. It’s kind of mesmerizing. Who’d have thought?

“Guess you’re okay with needles” The doctor comments. He fills six vials before unclipping the tourniquet and sliding the needle out under a small ball of cotton wool.

“Guess so”

He endures almost half an hour of awkwardness as he has his height and weight measured, does a Breathalyzer and is subjected to about a hundred stupid questions, including how many units of alcohol he consumers per week on average, which at least the Doctor has the humanity to look embarrassed as he asks.

Stiles snorts. “Is _so many I can’t remember_ an option?”

Doctor Hale just glares. “20, 30?”

“Is this daily or weekly?” He’s only half joking. He receives a look of utter despair and contempt and decides to just keep his mouth shut.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for now..”

“Thank god” Stiles blurts out accidently, deflating with relief.

“You know it’s no one’s fault but your own that you’re here”

Stiles slides off the bed. “Really? Can you say that?” The doctor’s eyes widen and he sighs. “Chill. I won’t say anything”

“I don’t care what you say, my job is looking after what you do”

He opens his mouth to reply but what’s the point. Doctors got a major superiority complex and zero redeeming factors personality wise, which is probably a good thing because it’s put pay to any potential crush feelings he may have been harboring.

“Whatever” he waves over his shoulder as he leaves. “Catch ya on the flip side”.

 

He’s unaware of Derek watching him as he goes, a funny sort of strangled expression on his face. The Doctor swallows hard. _This is going to be tough_ he thinks to himself. Why now? Why does he have to get a difficult patient now, when he needs just one more to sign off. The kid was obviously in denial and okay, he’d been perceptive to realise Derek was no good with people. He knew it, and he knew it held him back, but nobody was perfect and his clinical practice was excellent. So were his test scores! But he felt there was little he could do for a guy like this. Not to mention he found seeing people so young here surprisingly difficult. The boy looked to be about the same age as his little sister. She was away at Uni now, probably having the time of her life.

He wrote up his report for Deaton and sent the vials of blood down to the lab before retiring to his room for study.


	3. Ferrous Sulphate - Iron supplements. Alcoholics often lack such vitamins, this can lead to aneamia.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles requests a new Dr whilst struggling with his detox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, alcohol withdrawal is pretty bleak.

“I need a new doctor” Stiles announces to Doctor Deaton at the end of his first week at the Beacon Hills Reserve Rehab center. He dropped down casually into the swivel chair opposite the doctor, leaning his elbows on the desk for a moment before picking up a biro and fiddling with that, turning it over in clammy hands. He’d lain in bed the night after his meeting with Doctor Hale going over his ‘medical check’ about fifty times and every time he’d felt angrier and angrier. He’d seen the doctor twice again after that for another blood test, which had been an equally traumatic experience as the first, and results which had not been explained. The guy was a douche and no matter how hot he was he really didn’t want to see him again. In fact the hotness made it worse because it made Stiles even more determined to get the guy interested in him, which was like getting blood from a rock! (Which incidentally Derek could probably do, he never missed a vein!)

Dr Deaton leans his elbows on his big oak desk and peers at him over his wire framed glasses for a moment before looking back down at the notes, Stiles notes, in front of him. “Is that so? Why, may I ask?” he says softly, turning a page.

Stiles pings the cap of the biro off, across the room accidently and laughs nervously. “It’s just... well we’re not _compatible_ ” he shrugs, dropping the uncapped pen on the desk and picking it back up again.

“And why is that?” Deaton asks with annoying calm.

Stiles sighs, dropping the pen back for good and dropping back in the chair dramatically. “He’s so…” he searches for the word, rubbing his brow. “Frustrating! Like... how is he even a doctor? He’s so... _grrr_ ”

Deaton doesn’t look surprised, or annoyed. Maybe vaguely amused. He clasps his hands across his chest and watches Stiles jittery movements, all the time assessing him. It makes him very uncomfortable. He is well aware he is fidgeting. More so than usual. His hands are shaking too but if the Doctor maybe stopped looking at him like that he would be able to relax a little. It didn’t help that it was practically a hundred degrees in the office.

Each day he seemed to wake up feeling a little worse than the day before, which, kind of defeated the object of rehabilitating? The second and third nights he’d had the most vivid nightmares that didn’t seem to end when he woke up. Hallucinations of messing up on stage, of being chased by the director suddenly murderous due to Stiles mess up of lines. Stiles being locked up behind bars, by his father, shaking his head disappointedly. Erica, crying, crying, That had been the worse, why wouldn’t she stop?!

He woke up each morning so disorientated. Scott was always there and Stiles doesn’t know what he would have done without him.

“If you are quite sure then I shall assign you a new doctor, but may I please ask you to reconsider?”

Stiles looks up from the stray thread of cotton poking out from the cuff of his hoody. He says poking out, he’d pulled it out. In fact it was the third top he’d started shredding since he’d arrived here and he really had to stop because he doubted he’d be allowed out to go shopping and he’d only bought a limited wardrobe with him. “Huh, why?”

“Doctor Hale has been with us a year nearly. It takes a long time for doctors to complete all their competencies and register as fully qualified. You are his first... patient. Specifically dedicated to him. Once you’re discharged I can finally sign him off.”

Stiles eyes drop down guiltily. “Can’t... can’t he just take another patient?”

“Probably no time soon. He must be with the patient from admission to discharge. You’re ideal... Apart from” he waves his hand in the air. “The alcohol misuse you are otherwise healthy. You are the perfect first patient for him”

“Well maybe someone should tell him that” Stiles grumbles. He lingers for a moment but the office seems to be almost shrinking around him and suddenly he feels quite claustrophobic. He springs from the chair towards the door.

“So what’s the verdict Mr. Stilinski?” Deaton calls after him.

“The ver-what? Oh er, yeah, I’ll try... put up with him...” he forces out. He’s fumbling for the door handle, trying and failing to open it first go, his hand slipping, slicked with sweat. He growls frustrated, getting it open on the second try. He squints at the bright corridor, his vision blurring slightly at the edges.

“Mr. Stilinski? Are you alright?” Deaton’ voice comes over, sounding distant even though Stiles was only just through the door.

“Yeah” he waves. “Fine” or at least he will be once he gets out of here.

As he walks down the hall to his room his vision continues to deteriorate, bleaching around the edges and the headache which had been just a dull pulsing ache ten minutes ago was now a non-ignorable piercing pain. He fumbles for the wall, trying to guide himself but he’s sweating worse now, yet shivering and his knees feel weak and why is it so damn hot in here? Its making his skin itch all over! Isn’t there any bloody air conditioning, he’s paying enou-  


The first thing Stiles is aware of as he comes around is the pain in his head. It throbs persistently along with his too fast heartbeat. He swallows around the lump in his throat which hurts like he’s been swallowing razors. He feels nauseous. His eyelids feel like lead as he blinks them open, harsh white clinical light greeting his sensitive pupils.

“You’re awake”. His head snaps round. Whoa, too fast. He swallows bile. He’s in one of the treatment rooms, possibly the same one he’d had his initial medical assessment in a few days before. Derek in his white lab coat stands a few feet away, his back to Stiles. He draws up a syringe and turns. “Take this” he demands, thrusting the small 5ml syringe at Stiles.

Stiles glares at him, pushing himself up onto his left elbow and taking the syringe in his right hand. “ _Oh hi Derek, yeah I’m fine thank you_ ” he says sarcastically.

“Dr Hale. And I know you’re fine. I just examined you” come’s a sharp reply making Stiles feel a little violated. Derek turns away and taps a button on the syringe driver, alerting Stiles that, oh and he’s on a drip. _Great._ “Twenty five minutes to go. Then you can go back to your room if you feel up to it” he’s told.

Reluctantly Stiles pushes the plunger, cringing as the bitter syrup coats his tongue. “Eugh, can’t they make it taste a bit nicer” he moans, handing Derek back the empty purple syringe. He doesn’t look too pleased, turning up his nose and discarding it in the clinical waste.

“I don’t think _taste_ is their top priority. Or should be yours” Derek drops down into a leather chair behind his desk and begins to fill in the paperwork everyone here seems so fond of.

Stiles lays back down, staring at the boring white ceiling. He scans the room without moving for a moment but is soon bored. The opportunity to wind Derek up is just too good to miss. He’s obviously feeling better. He decides to mess with him. You know, to pass the time. Seeing as how he’s now stuck with him and everything. After Deaton’s puppy eyes and sob story. God he’s such a pushover.

“Okay doc, I’m ready, what’s the prognosis? How long do I have left?” he throws the back of his hand across his forehead dramatically and sighs.

“You shouldn’t joke about dying” Derek says flatly a moment later.

Stiles looks over his shoulder. Derek has his glasses on. Thick rimmed ones and wow, Stiles has a thing for nerds, not fair. He peers over them at Stiles without a hint of amusement.

“Fine. What’s wrong with me anyway? Why am I fainting like a girl?”

“Men faint too”

“Did I faint like a man? Am I a mainly fainter? Would you say? Of all the faints you’ve seen-“

“I wasn’t there” Derek cuts him off.

“Well you’re my doctor. Shouldn’t you be keeping a better eye on me?”

Derek sighs, clearly annoyed, and drops his pen and removes his glasses, pushing a hand through his hair making it stick up at funny angles. “What were you doing? Out of your room? I told you yesterday you’re iron was very low”

A wisp of a smile quirks at Stiles lips. He sits up, careful of the cannula in the back of his right hand, and swings around to face Derek, pulling his legs up onto the bed and folding them. “I was speaking to Deaton. I asked for a different doctor.” He tells him matter-of-factly, gaging for a response, an emotion, his eyes not once leaving Derek’s.

Derek doesn’t even blink. “What did he say?”

“To give you another chance. Because you need me. To qualify as a registrar or whatever...”

The older man leans back in his chair and Stiles feels like he’s actually got his attention for the first time. Actual Stiles. Not his body. Not his health. Actual Stiles.

“And what did you say?”

He smirks. “I said I’d give you one more chance”

“Aren’t I Lucky…” he grumbles sarcastically.

His doctor, _for now,_ doesn’t give an inch, which only makes Stiles want to push him even further. Stiles is a jokester. His character on tv was always the comedic relief. He wonders how hard it would be to get Derek to laugh? _Challenge accepted!_ He runs a careful finger around the site of his cannula, just to piss Derek off a bit, he’s an infection control freak. Derek gets up, walking back over, unlocking a cupboard and pulling out a small white pot.

“Ferrous Sulphate. I’m upping your dose. We shouldn’t need to transfuse, you’re Hb is 101..”

“Ferrous Sulphate. That’s the... iron?”

He nods, walking back to the desk and pulling out what Stiles identifies as his prescription chart from its pale green colour.

“I…” Derek starts and stops, sighing and walking back over to Stiles. He stops opposite him and leans his back on the counter. He crosses one leg over the other and stuffs his hands in his pockets. When he begins again it is in a softer tone, making Stiles feel un-expectantly nervous, like he wants to back-pedal and get back to them snarking each other, because that way he can deal with the sexy. “We’d hoped that, because you’re so young, maybe your body would cope okay with the removal of the alcohol but erm, well as you probably know it hasn’t been coping so well, so I’d like to.. increase you into detoxification.”

“I.. is that bad?” Stiles says, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling rising again in his stomach. He’d come to rehab to avoid jail, not because he’d ever given much thought to his actual health and wellbeing, but it was hard to ignore it in these settings. He knew alcohol was bad for him, sure, but you threw up, you sweat it out, you drank a few pints of water and you got it out of your system. What had all these vitamins got to do with anything?

“No. No, it’s just.. well, I don’t know what you know about alcohol detox but, when you.. drink, a lot, your body becomes use to the toxins you are filling it with and eventually, it becomes sort of dependent. It’s ironic, the thing that’s killing you, you become reliant on it, physically as well as mentally” Derek’s voice has a bitter edge as he tries to explain to Stiles. He almost seems.. sorry for him. “Well, with alcohol especially, it is important that we don’t suddenly withdraw the toxins, your body could go into shock and..”

“So you’re saying I need to reduce the amount of toxins I take slowly? I can’t go cold turkey.”

Derek nods. “Basically, yes. On the bright side, you shouldn’t feel so shit once we sort it”

“I take it that means more medication rather than a trip to the pub?”

Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, or something Stiles over medicated brain invented, but he was sure he saw a hint of a smile pass across the doctors lips. Maybe he really was crazy.

They actually talk for a little bit. Nothing special. Mostly about the science of detox and stuff, which Stiles actually finds kind of interesting. The doctors had to manage the symptoms of withdrawal (you could have seizures!), multiple vitamin deficiencies as well as psychological issues and something called 're-feeding syndrome'. Isaac was talking about a computer room earlier. Maybe he can go on one of his Google binges and look this shit up, maybe come back and impress Dr Hale. Eventually the syringe driver beeps, signifying the end of his course. Derek strolls over, switching it off, flushing his cannula and unhooking the line.

“Alright if I leave the cannula in? Just for a day or two, so I don’t have to stab you again if you er, faint”

Stiles wants to hit him because he’s sure there’s a mocking tone to his voice. “I’m trusting you to look after me so that doesn’t happen again”

“I can’t-“

“I’m kidding geez. Yeah, whatever. I don’t mind the needles though” he shrugs.

Derek secures the tube hanging out of his hand with some surgical tape and sticks a clean bung on the end. “Try not to bash it. You know where I am if you want it out.”

“Great!” Stiles beams jumping up off the bed.

“How are you feeling? Ready to go back to your room?”

Stiles is feeling better. Not only physically but mentally because he seems to have actually got through Derek’s first layer and seen _something_ a little human. He’s not sure quite why he cares so much, perhaps he just needs something to focus on. Something other than himself and his pathetic situation. He tries to kid himself that he just wants to get along with his doctor so that he can get better as quickly as possible but he has a feeling it might be something to do with that little crush and its re-surfacing. Of corse that’s not what Derek means but…

“Yeah, fine” he smiles, waving a dismissive hand and strolling out.

Later that evening he finds Isaac who coerces him into a marathon of table football. Then they watch a movie with a few of the other residents. He embarrassingly falls asleep on the couch and Scott wakes him up an hour after everyone else has left with his revised medication and a shoulder to lean on to help him get back to his room.

“Isaac didn’t wanna disturb you” his nurse laughs. “I’ll come wake you in the morning. You want breakfast?”

“No” Stiles mumbles sleepily, leaning against Scott for support as he’s dragged to his room.

“Suit yourself.” The nurse laughs, somehow managing to get his door open and slog Stiles inside. He’s probably done it a thousand times. “You wanna try one of the classes tomorrow? I think Isaac is doing an art one. Art therapy is meant to be pretty effective. Looks like fun anyway”

“Pass” Stiles laughs, straightening up and stretching, letting the muscles in his back pull and the joints click. He lets out a satisfied ‘ _ahh’_ and smiles at Scott over his shoulder. “I’m just gonna sleep. All day I think”

“I’ll call for you in the afternoon then?”

“Sure”

Scott turns to leaves, but as he reaches the door Stiles is caught by the urge to thank him. His doctor may be a little frosty and Deaton is nice enough but more than a little intimidating, but Scott makes him feel like he has someone on his side, it’s something he’s not really used to but is grateful for.

“Thanks” he calls out. Scott pauses, then smiles.

“Yeah. No problem. Seeya tomorrow”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All feedback is massively appreciated! I was never going to post this so it's cool that people are actually reading it :p


	4. Lansoprazole - a proton-pump inhibitor which inhibits the stomach's production of gastric acids. Used when taking a variety of other meds.

A familiar loud knock on Stiles door wakes him up. He’s been at the center less than two weeks but he’s already fallen into routine. Sure enough a moment later the door swings open and Scott enters the room. He has a clipboard under one arm, a stethoscope around his neck and a small medical kit in the other hand. He kicks the door shut behind him and offers Stiles a small smile as he crosses the room, dropping his stuff down on the bedside table.

“You didn’t want dinner?” he asks. “Mac’n’cheese? It’s pretty good”

Stiles swings his legs out of bed with a groan. “Again? Always with the Mac ‘n’ Cheese. No. I.. eughhh” he shakes his head aggressively. Even the thought of food. Nope. So far it still seemed as though each day he’d been at the clinic he’d felt progressively worse. He was having a poor reaction to some of the Benzo’s, and they’d started him on Zopiclone because after the first few nights where he’d zonked out he hadn’t been able to sleep and the meds were giving him nightmares and hallucinations when he did. He looked like shit too and he knew it. He hadn’t been sleeping, he hadn’t been eating, his emotions were all over the place and he hadn’t been outside in over a week. He’d stopped looking in the mirror altogether. He wasn’t a man about his appearance but it was still pretty depressing. Still, Doc said is blood results were better this week!

“If I get a chance I’ll bring round a sandwich later” Scott chuckles as he says it but is eyeing him with sympathy. He unwinds a sphygmomanometer and flicks through the paper work to the right page, tugging a pen from behind his ear and filling in the time and date. “Is it okay if I check your blood pressure?” He always asked before he does it. Stiles wonders what he’d do if he said no. He wasn’t up for messing with Scott though.

Stiles tilts his head, regarding him with interest. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yup” Scott nods, but Scott, like himself, is not a one word answer kind of guy. Besides, his emotions are written all over his face. Stiles doesn’t even have to press the matter, a moment later Scott sighs heavily, wrapping the cuff round Stiles bicep, focusing way to intently on a task he’s done a thousand times over. “You er… apparently you asked for a new doctor?”

So that’s what this was about? He was surprised though; he hadn’t thought Scott and Derek close. He’d never seen them together and personality wise; they couldn’t have been more different. “Er yeah” he shrugs. They’re silent for a few minutes as Scott records his observation and jots them down, folding away his kit. Once he’s done he sets it all back down on the table and sits on the edge of Stiles bed. Stiles shifts to face him.

“Derek’s.. a good guy” Scott says slowly and Stiles notes it’s the first time he’s called him by his first name, rather than Dr. Hale.

Stiles waits but Scott doesn’t continue. “It was like, ages ago now. But, okay..” he prompts.

“It’s, why did you want.. what’s wrong.. with him? I mean, he’s a little brusque, I know.. but he’s a good doctor. A fucking good doctor”

“Yeah.. I, have no doubt..”

“So what was it then?” Scott levels him with an odd look, almost challenging but coming from Scott it’s in no way aggressive..

Stiles swallows, suddenly feeling like he was under interrogation, something he wasn’t used to with the nurse. He didn’t want them to fall out over this or something. He thinks of cracking a joke to ease the tension, making some lame crack about Derek being about as fun as a ‘hail storm’ but he bites his lip and resists because apparently he has a filter now. Woo, check him out: picture of maturity. “Dude just has no people skills. Like whatsoever.” After the fainting he didn’t particularly feel like slating Derek completely. He’d eventually been alright. He’d actually show the first _slight_ of compassion. But his argument, he felt, was still valid. “He.. intimidates me! He’s so cold and detached” Stiles shrugs. “Hey, I’m sure its six of one half a dozen of the other. I know I’m no angel. I guess, we just clash”

Scott’s silent for a moment, as if he’s mulling this over. He leans his back to the wall, his feet dangling over the edge of Stiles bed. He twiddles his thumbs, sucking in a breath, nodding, as if convincing himself to do this. Stiles feels a story coming on. “There was a patient.. Derek had been with us three months. Most F2’s don’t get a patient for six months but Dr. Deaton said Derek was ready. He was young, older than us, 30 maybe. He’d lost it all, his parents were gone and the year before his wife died suddenly of cancer. That’s when he hit the bottle. Well he became jaundice, turned yellow, and got diagnosed with mild liver disease. The liver’s clever you know” he looks up at Stiles wistfully. “The liver fixes itself. It’s a shame; the liver fixes itself but the person can’t.. Tim- this patient, he got out the hospital and decided to spend his wife’s life insurance on getting clean, because she would of hated to have seen him like that.. well he and Derek they just bonded. Derek has hardly any family, he knows what it’s like to lose people. And Tim got better. He got.. so good. Everyone could see the change. Anyway, it was Christmas and he still had a month left of rehab but he was desperate to get home and just spend a couple of days over Christmas with his friends. Dr. Deaton said it was Derek’s call and Derek of course said he could go..”

Scott falls quiet then. He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Not until Stiles reaches out to him, to pat his arm, or something. Scott flinches away.

“He died. He drank a liter of whiskey and drove his car off a bridge. We don’t know if it was an accident or..” Scott closes his eyes, rubbing his face briskly with his hands. This time when Stiles reaches out he lets him. Stiles shuffles across the bed so they’re sat shoulder to shoulder.

“He died, and Derek got hurt” Stiles says softly, resting his head back against the wall, finishing the story.

“More than that. Derek, he blames himself. He’s convinced he killed him. That’s why he is like he is. Ever since he hasn’t been able to get attached to another patient. And that’s why he’s so hard on you. But, it’s a good thing. He won’t let you fall off the wagon”

They sit in silence for a long time after that. Neither of them move until a sharp knock on the door startles them away. Isaac opens the door slowly, peering in nervously. He looks relieved when he sees them both sat on the bed.

“Thank g.. Scott you’ve been in here for like.. an hour! We were getting worried! You’re meant to be putting a film on”

Scott chuckles. “I’m fine!” he gets up off the bed and makes to follow Isaac out, stopping briefly and turning to Stiles. “So go easy on him okay? Just.. cut him some slack. He’s trying. And he likes you. I can tell” and then he’s gone and Stiles is alone with his thoughts.

Going easy on Derek? He hadn’t seen that one coming. He’d thought it should be the other way round! Well, what do you know: the world doesn’t revolve around Stiles and Doctors have emotions! He was learning something new every day.

 

**

 

His next few days are relatively uneventful. Isaac continues to sit with him at lunch and dinner, chatting freely about his favourite films and a holiday he took as a kid to Mexico and other kinds of useless information that Stiles just lapped up because it was just so _real_ and he found it totally refreshing. Isaac spoke about his mum a lot. She sounded like a wonderful woman and he obviously had the upmost respect for her. Stiles got the sad impression she wasn’t with us anymore. The kid seemed to know everything about everyone too. It made Stiles wonder how long he’d been there, which made him feel a pang of pity, but he’s grateful. Isaac shows him who to avoid; other court ordered residents, people not handling their come-downs so well. And then the people who he thought were worth talking to, namely himself and Scott.

“Dude, your only friend here is your nurse?” Stiles teases one afternoon at lunch. He’s been at the rehab center nearly two weeks now.

Isaac thinks about this for a moment before shrugging. “And you” he adds easily.

Stiles is taken aback. Sure, they’d been hanging around a bit, but he hadn’t realised the kid considered him a friend. “Sure” he nods after a delay, biting into his apple and nodding. “And me”. He could count the amount of people he considered true friends on one hand. OKAY, ON HIS THUMBS. Basically Erica and his dad. He had no one else. No one he wasn’t related to. Co-stars yeah but they aren’t the same. None of them had reached out to him when he’d gotten in toruble. A couple had even testified against him in court. As far as he knew no one had tried to make contact since he’d been at rehab. Already he felt more connected with Isaac than any of them. Scott too.

“Are you coming to the sports hall later? I think we’re playing football today” Isaac smiles over at him innocently. So that was the kids game, he was smarter than he looked. Soften him up with a compliment then coerce him into group activities with him.

He tilts his head thoughtfully. He thought again about his life since he’d been here, his routine. He’d get woken up by Scott around eight thirty each morning, have his observations charted followed by breakfast in his room and his medication which he was almost getting used to. He had psychiatry and reflective sessions with Deaton most mornings. Then he’d shower before lunch. After lunch he’d either have medical with Dr Hale or would sit in his room, reading until dinner. Although he was settling in he still hadn’t attended any of the classes the center put on for them. There were art classes and cooking classes and self-help classes. Also there were activities, mostly sports, that Isaac tried to drag him to daily, but he usually found an excuse.

“I have a medical”

“Maybe tomorrow” Isaac smiles. Then eyes flick down to the table. “How er, how do you find Doctor Hale?”

Stiles pushes peas around his plate with his fork thoughtfully, a tight smile stretching his lips. “What ever do you mean by that?”

Blushing, Isaac waves his arms “Nothing! I just..” then drops his voice: “he’s a little.. _surly_ ”

“Surly?” Stiles laughs. “Yeah that’s one word for it!”

“My doctors Doctor Martin and she’s scary enough. When she went to Barbados for a fortnight I had Doctor Hale..” his voice trails off.

“You just gotta know how to deal with him!”

“And you do?” Isaac quirks and unconvinced eyebrow and Stiles is almost hurt by his lack of faith.

He grins. “I’m getting there. Perfecting my technique.”

“Well I think I’ll pass. He scares me.” Isaac tells him, taking Stiles and his trays away back to the kitchen.

 

"Soo.." Half an hour later Stiles is perched on the edge of the examination table in Dr. Hales examination room, legs swinging carelessly beneath him, waiting to be ‘reviewed’. "Is there a Mrs Hale?" He asks breezily. Teasing Dr Hale and making him uncomfortable had become one of Stiles favourite pastimes here at the clinic and although he was supposed to be ‘going easy on him’, he didn’t think this counted. Maybe it was a defence mechanism because of how uncomfortable the doctor made him. Probably. But he didn’t think about that. Derek is sat at his desk in the far corner typing up notes for the previous patient. Stiles had turned up early again. His eyes don't leave the computer screen. "My mum is dead" he replies flatly.

Stiles eyes bulge. "I me- I meant a wife!" He stammers exasperated. Derek's hands finally falter and still on the keyboard and it's pretty obvious the doctors blushing. He drags his eyes up to Stiles briefly beneath his glasses. God, Stiles had given up trying to deny his mega crush on Derek. Now he just… embraces it.

"Oh. That’s not any of your business" he mumbles before resuming typing, even more furiously. Stiles relaxes back on the bed.

"Take that as a no. Can't say I'm surprised. No offence. But with people skills like that.. leaves a lot to be desired." He baits. He crosses his ankles and folds his hands behind his head, staring up at the familiar ceiling. He could traces every crack and water stain by memory already. "I bet you're a nightmare. I bet you're like a clean freak. The real OCD" he laughs at his own joke. "And I bet you always eat like, a balanced meal" he shudders as if he was suggesting Derek ate worms for dinner. He continues as the doctor gets up and starts fiddling with equipment on the counter next to him. "And don't even get me started on the sex! I bet you make the woman do all the work" Stiles doesn't know why he's saying this but he's trying desperately hard not to picture it. "I bet you’re quiet to. No one likes a silent shag. You need to know you're doing it right-"

"I always do it right, I'm a doctor" Derek deadpans and successfully stuns Stiles into silence because yeah, Derek probably has a pretty good idea about the human body and how it works and.. _wow._ Why had he never dated a doctor? Derek is able to take Stiles blood pressure, pulse and temperature with ease as Stiles remains silent and the doctor thinks prematurely that maybe he's finally discovered a way to handle his odd patient. Of course, all good things come to an end.

"Is that allowed? Hardly seems fair on the rest of us. All these doctors going around with this impeccable knowledge of the human body. Going round, using their powers for evil. I mean, when you take your doctors oath shouldn't there be a section 'thou shalt only use their powers to help'”

"To help you come" the doctor says completely shocking himself, let alone Stiles whose eyes bulge, a dazed look on his face for a moment before it is replaced by a grin. Derek can feel his face burning red in horror at what he’d just said. He was not the kind of person to make crude jokes. Like, at all. Not since training to be a doctor. _He hadn’t had the kind of friends you could make them with since then anyway…_

"That should be your moto. You should get that printed on a tshirt" Stiles continues. Derek realises he is in way over his head as he tries to mentally prepare himself for when his patient starts talking again. "So, you actually know where like.. all the good points are" He wants to face palm. What has he gotten himself in to? He contemplates no answering but that wouldn’t work with Stiles.

"Yes. But it's fairly common knowledge. You can read that in a text book" _Textbook! Yeah sure who needs real sex when you can read about it!_

"So er, I think I might need a prostrate examination. Do you do that? I am getting to that age-"

"Stiles you are nowhere near that age. I'm done so, go" he shoos. "Better safe than sorry though hey! And we're just bantering, I can stay. I have nowhere else to be-"

"You know sexual harassment can be verbal as well as physical"

"Okay okay. I can take a hint" Stiles holds his hands up in surrender, sliding from the bed. "It wasn't a hint" Derek grumbles though with something akin to affection. Perhaps.

Stiles leaves the doctors room shaking his head. Their relationship had… _developed._ He was pleased, but at the same time he wasn’t sure he could handle Derek like this. Who knew he had such a dirty mouth on him?


	5. Carbamazepine - a synthetic compound benzodiazepine, used as an anticonvulsant used to curb withdrawal induced seizures.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Allison. And the Question Game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler chapter. Not happy with this really but anyway..

It’s Stiles third week in at the rehabilitation centre and medically he’s finally starting to feel better. Dr Deaton had said he admired how Stiles had taken the whole thing in his stride. It was obviously meant as a compliment but had made Stiles sad. He realised all the other court ordered residents were desperate to leave, but he wasn’t, so what did that say about his normal life? That wasn’t to say his drinking had been completely circumstantial. He had wanted to drink a few times since he’d been here. The first week he’d pretty much wanted to drink every morning before leaving his room. He wanted a drink to take of the edge when he was with Derek too. He’d rather embarrassingly broken down once and begged Scott to sneak him _just a tiny bit of whiskey. Or vodka. Even rum!_ His heart rate had been 120. Scott had told him he was delirious. He was grateful he hadn’t bought it up again.

No, he was doing better.

It was Thursday afternoon and his was in the canteen with Scott and Isaac. He’d agreed (after much nagging. And Isaac’s puppy dog face) to go for walk with some of the residents and nurses around the reserve. It all sounded very cringey to him. Were they gonna have to hold hands? Wear luminous vests? But okay, he hadn’t been outside for more than a few minutes in 3 weeks and his normally pale skin was practically translucent.

“I can’t wait for you to meet her!” Scott is gushing for about the hundredth time since he’d agreed to go out with them.

“I feel like I’ve already met her” Stiles grumbles, knocking his head against the table for the fifth time. He’d dated girls for.. okay his longest relationship was about four months, but even then he hadn’t known as much about them as he does Allison, Scott’s long term girlfriend and all round wonder woman/ apple of his eye.

“She’s so great, you’ll just love her! Everybody does! The kids she teaches always say she’s their favourite teacher. One class even went to the head teacher and asked if they could have her a second time!”

Oh, did he mention she was a primary school teacher? No? Scott had. Six times.

“And she volunteers here with us alchys, she must be a saint! I wouldn’t hang out with me for free”

“Stiles you are more than just an alcoholic!” Scott tells him inspiringly. “Alcohol does not define you”

“Oh god he’s been reading his own self-help booklets again. You know those are meant for us right?” Stiles elbows Isaac and rolls his eyes. The kid giggles.

“He is right though, you will love Allison”

They finish their lunches and head out to the front lobby to take roll call. Stiles finds the whole thing highly embarrassing. He’s not even sure why he agreed to go on this ‘excursion’. Apparently at Beacon Hills Rehab Clinic they firmly believe getting in touch with nature will help you get in touch with yourself, or something like that. So once a month they do a hike around the hills and reserve and have a picnic, and when it’s warm (it’s not) swim in the lake. Anyway, Scott’s better half volunteers, and ‘makes the whole thing possible’. Well Stiles had no interest in ‘getting in touch with nature’ but he had to admit that after the amount he’d heard about Allison since getting here; he couldn’t deny slight curiosity.

“Hey Scott!” a cheerful voice chimes and suddenly there’s a tall, slim brunette wrapping her arms around Scott’s neck. She pulls back, giving Isaac a much more reserved squeeze before regarding Stiles with warm, chocolate eyes. “You must be Stiles? I’ve heard all about you, I’m Allison” she gives him a little wave and smiles sweetly. The woman has dimples. She’s adorable. Stiles makes a mental note of congratulating Scott later before realising he’s been spoken to.

“Oh ha, yeah. Not as much as I’ve heard about you!” _Yeah, he’s lame._

She giggles anyway, either not noticing or kindly ignoring his awkwardness. “Oh, god, does he moan about me? You’ll have to tell me everything! We’ve just moved in together and…” she slips her arm in his as if it’s the most natural thing to do and leads the way. Conversation flows easily. Almost too easily. Stiles waits for himself to put his foot in it like he eventually always does but Allison and Scott and Isaac are just so easy to get on with.

They scale the side of the hill the clinic rests on before climbing the taller adjacent one. After forty minutes they break out from the forest of trees into a patch of dappled sunlight with a lake, a real area of natural beauty and most people sit down.

“You wanna paddle?” Allison suggests, then slips her sandals of and rolls her jeans up, making towards the river, and the guys all obediently follow, with the unexpected addition of Dr Martin.

“Is the water clean?” the red-headed neuro-expert scowls, surveying it with a suspicious eye. Presumably she decides not, circling round to a large rock and shaking out a towel to relax on.

Stiles watches her for a moment, elegant in a short floral dress despite the chill to the air. She props herself up onto an elbow and tilts her wayfarers and Stiles finally realises she’s watching him. Or rather has caught him watching her. He sighs and wanders over, dropping down next to her. He’d passed her a few times since he’d been here and knew her office was two down from Derek’s, but they’d never spoken. He knew she was Isaac’s Doctor too, so he was naturally curious.

“Hey” he forces a cheerful smile. “Er, I’m Sti-“

“Stiles Stilinski. I know” she cuts him off, her amber eyes blatantly giving him the once over before she pushes her sunglasses back up. “Your Hale’s patient. How’s that?” he’s asked, not for the first time since arriving. She relaxes back, eyes raking over him, genuinely interested.

“Oh?” Stiles watches Scott and Isaac sprinting round the water, giggling like teenage girls and splashing each other.

“I’ve known Hale for nearly two years. I’ve got to be honest, I was worried when Deaton showed me your case file.” She speaks frankly, no judgment in her voice, just facts. “When he told me he was thinking of giving Derek some celebrity who’d beaten up one of his cast” She was obviously a more senior Dr than Derek. Perhaps Deaton’s second in command.

“Crew” Stiles corrects and she pauses and a small smile cracks her lips.

“My bad”

“It’s… fine. He’s… once you get past the exterior-“

“You want to get past the exterior?”

They fall silent. Stiles isn’t sure what to say. Isn’t sure what she’s getting at, but she’d been giving him this knowing look all morning. It was if she was in on some big secret but Stiles had no idea what it was. They’re interrupted a moment later by Allison who has two lemonades. She hands them each one and drops down next to Stiles.

“So” she beams. “What do you think of it here? Not as bad as you expected?”

Stiles takes a long gulp of his drink, wiping his mouth and looking out at the view of the sleepy town below, bleached in the midday sun. He smiles. “Maybe it’s the anticonvulsants speaking, but I kinda… like it?”

Allison looks like she’s not sure if she should laugh at his joke but Dr Martin doesn’t hesitate, snorting lightly. “Ooh I like this one. Let’s keep him!”

Stiles can’t help but smile at that. Dr Martin, Lydia, is straight-talking and reminds him of Erica. Given, they’d probably butt-heads like nobody’s business, but it couldn’t help him feel an affection for her. She was quieter than his step-sister though. Soaking up the rays, letting Allison do the talking. She recanted funny little stories of her and Scott. They’d been high-school sweethearts which, bleugh, _of course._

“Scott says you haven’t checked out any of the classes yet? Is that not something you’re interested in?” Allison tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smiling at him shyly.

Stiles shrugs. “It’s not… it’s not really my thing”

“How about taking a class? Like, leading one” Dr Martin pipes up and Stiles wishes she hadn’t because suddenly Allison’s back straightens and her eyes widen in glee and she claps her hands together, speaking before Stiles can shut her down.

“Oh my gosh Lydia! What a great idea! Stiles you could teach an acting class! So many of the residents would love that!” she jumps up, waving at Scott. “Scott! Scott, listen to this!” then she’s skipping off, chatting elatedly, gesturing over her shoulder at Stiles who turns to glare at Dr Martin. The red head just smiles smugly.

“There’s nothing sexier than a man doing what he does best. Me and Derek will definitely have to stop by” she says smoothly, before hoping up to check they hadn’t lost anyone. “We better get going” she announces.

 

They arrive back at the clinic early afternoon. They have tea then are all left to their own devices. Except Stiles of corse.

“You want to lead a class?” Deaton raises and inquisitory eyebrow. Stiles shrinks further bank into his seat. Scott and Allison are sat either side of him (under the pretence of moral support but he knows better that it’s so he can’t chicken out). Isaac is somewhere behind them.

“Well… I…” he looks to Scott, feeling himself panic. Scott beams brightly at him and nods encouragingly. “I, just, it was just an idea-“

“It’s a great idea!” Deaton declares getting up and beginning to gather paperwork. “I think there’s quite a few people who would enjoy an acting class! What sort of things were you thinking of teaching?”

Stiles gulps. Teach acting? God, he didn’t even know how to act himself! He’d been in his role since he was so young, he couldn’t really remember how he’d learnt to do it.

“I don’t know” he mumbles and watches as Deaton frowns. “I mean, er, I know a bunch of techniques and stuff” he says, winging it, not sure himself if this is true.

 

A few days later Stiles is stood in front of his class (wow that was something he's never thought he'd say). There was 8 of them, not a bad turn out. Admittedly he was including Isaac and Scott in those numbers (Scott had gotten special permission from Deaton to take part). There was a hippy type woman in purple parachute pants and a orange headscarf. She’d held Stiles hands and ‘read his aura’ when she’d entered. There were two other woman, a young shy looking girl with a thick fringe who didn’t look much older than Stiles, and a curvy blonde woman in her early thirties with a full face of make up. Janice. She always winked at Dr Hale and made him blush and hurry away. Aside for that there was a couple of young wanna-be actor kind of guys and a grumpy looking man with a beer belly who is kind of creeping Stiles out. His palms were clammy and his heart was racing and for once it had nothing to do with withdrawal. "We, hey, hi guys. My names Stiles... You might know me from TV." He chuckles. Isaac does to but no one else. Wow, tough crowd. "So, er, I was gonna go through a few of the techniques I use when like, getting into character... and stuff.." He gets everyone into pairs with Isaac as his assistant. They do the mirror technique which is all a bit lame but loosens everyone up and gets people to relax a bit. He talks about Stanislavskis great technique briefly and subsequently Lee Strasburg. For him connecting a character with his real life had always been useful, because you have to believe a role to fulfil it. He fields a few awkward questions from the unimpressed looking man in his forties. He apparently had 'had a minor role on Bay Watch, cameo'd in a Tarantino and starred in over 4 commercials'. Just as he’s trying to explain that, no, you can't exactly relate a zombie apocalypse to everyday life but there are emotions that you'd experience in other situations, the door swings open. True to her word, Dr Martin walks in. She's wearing cropped chinos, a floral blouse and a slightly smug expression. Behind is a rather sheepish looking Dr Hale. Dr Martin gives him a breezy wave and gestures for him to continue as they talk seats at the back of the room. Now he's sure he's gonna freeze up. Derek isn't even looking at him, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Er" he chokes. The class are all staring at him. "I... did you want to play a game?" He knows several 'acting games'. Whenever they got a few new characters on the show, usually at the start of a new season, they'd had team bonding style days where they'd played them. The question game was his favourite because he was damn good at it. "Okay, I need a volunteer" Isaacs hand shoots up and he's about to pick him when Dr Martin cuts in. "Derek will do it" she says matter of factly. Both Derek and Stiles heads snap round. "What?!" They say in unison. "I said Derek will do it" she smiles, nodding at Derek towards Stiles. Everyone is watching them, Janice even cheers. Stiles gulps and waits. To his surpise, Derek rises from his seat slowly and takes five long strides over to Stiles.

“This better not be something stupid” he tells him under his breath. Stiles barks out an awkward laugh but he doesn’t think it’s a joke.

“Okay so basically, someone gives us a scenario and then we have to improve a conversation. The catch is we get one sentence each at a time and it _must_ be a question. Also, it must obviously make sense. You get it?” they all nod except Derek who is glaring at him. Presumably this is what he would consider ‘something stupid’. He tries to ignore him and move on. “So okay, someone give us a scenario?”

Isaac is about to speak but Mr Baywatch cuts in, louder and forcefully and Isaac’s mouth clamps shut. “At a rehab centre. You’re a Dr and Dr Hale is a patient”

He looks again over to Derek who has gone pale. Without showing any expression his face is somehow begging Stiles to find a way out of this for him but what can he do?

“Okay, I’ll start.”

“So, How do you think I can help you?” he begins with, because he’s not sure anyone’s actually asked him once what _he_ thinks would help him. Not that he knows. Derek pauses for a minute. “Why do you want to know?” he bites out. “Why wouldn’t I?” Stiles tilts his head at Derek who’s looking more annoyed by the second. “What would be in it for you?” “Why does there need to be something in it for me?” “Why else would you be interested?” “Would you believe I genuinely wanted to help you?” Stiles asks, feeling a bit cocky. That was a cheeky one. “Now why would I believe that?” Derek raises an eyebrow and _ookayy_ he’s played this before! “Hasn’t anyone else in the past?” it’s become intense quickly Often when two people are good at the game it does but really him and Derek are standing much closer to each other than necessary and did her have to have Stiles pinned with those hard eyes? He’d completely forgotten that there were other people in the room. “What business is that of yours?” “Well how do you expect me to help you if you don’t open up to me?” he’s broken from his trance by Scott who clears his throat, reminded them that they aren’t the only people in the room. Stiles break away, suddenly feeling almost violated that other people had been there to witness them. “Er, so that’s the idea” he rushes. “So pair up and I’ll come and give you settings”. Intense.  


Dr Hale and Dr Martin leave abruptly after that but not without Dr Martin coming over, squeezing his shoulder and telling him with a wink how much she’d enjoyed the ‘show’. Stiles never wants to teach or see Derek again. Why is nothing ever smooth sailing with him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors. As I said I don't really like this chapter and struggled to go back through it.


	6. Hartmann's solution - Closest Isotonically to blood, it's used to replace vital mineral salts.

“I’ve been reading about this guy, Sinclair” Stiles declares to a stoney faced Dr Hale (four days post ‘’question game”). It’s his third week at the center now, which he can hardly believe. He’s only spoken to Erica on the phone a handful of time and has not said more than a few words to his dad at the end of each conversation. He knows this frustrates them both but it’s too painful. The clearer his mind gets, the worse the guilt is setting in. He’s willing to endure the pain he deserves for the suffering he’s caused his family but he doesn’t feel like having a total melt down whilst here. If he can help it. He just strives to make it up to them once he’s out. Most days he flows easily between the recreational areas and the art room (where he can almost always find Isaac) and sometimes even Derek’s room. But now Derek was in Stiles rooms, doing the rounds.

The doctor groans, answering Stiles next question before he even has to ask it; _have you heard of him?_

“He says that-“

“It’s not a recognised treatment here in the US. Try.. Finland”

“I always wanted to go to Lapland..” Stiles ponders as Derek hands him the already dispensed pot of tablets and a glass of water. Stiles takes the pills without question, swallowing them two at a time, and sets the water down, laying back on his bed. Derek sits in the chair opposite, the same as he had the day before. Usually Scott brought his medicine but he’d got the weekend off so Derek had done it both days. He’d run through a set of routine questions with him yesterday but he didn’t have Stiles folder with him today. “You staying big guy?” Stiles wonders aloud, looking over. He’s sure a light flush of colour spreads across Derek’s cheeks.

“I.. -sorry, I can go. I just thought-“ the Doctor stutters, making as if to get up.

“No! By all means, stay! Hey, bring a book tomorrow!”

Derek frowns. “Scott’s back-“

“No, stay. I.. I’d like the company” he admits solemnly. God, he’s pathetic. Like a love sick puppy.

They’re silent after that for a long time. Stiles can feel the drugs taking effect. He pictures he can physically feel them, a pleasant heat, coursing through his veins, waking up his seemingly dormant cells. His body buzzes to life until he thinks he can feel every molecule of his being vibrate slowly. Maybe it’s in his mind, but it feels real to him. This is one thing he’s not completely used to. It sounds weird, an ‘alcoholic’ finding the effect of medications weird but it is. For some reason they seem to feel different every day. Today feels… more intense.

“Stiles? _Stiles,_ are you okay?”

Derek’s voice penetrates through his thoughts. He’s there, knelt beside the bed, his face less than a foot from Stiles. Stiles can smell him, all manly of soap and fresh air and cleanness. Stiles thinks that maybe aftershave is overrated. That’s not really manly is it? Artificial beauty is for girls. Real men are like Derek… No, that’s not fair. That’s not, girls are-

“Stiles? Can you hear me? I’ve got to call Deaton, I-“

Stiles reaches out, grabbing Derek’s arm, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and holding on. He sounds far away. “Don’t leave. Not when you’ve just.. started.. being” he mutters. It doesn’t quite make sense, explain what he means, but it’ll do.

“You’re okay?”

“Mmm. Yes. Just… meds. Stay.” He says, wishing the haze would dissipate, just a little, so he could see Derek properly. But he feels tired, and too relaxed, like every muscle in his body is just… uncoiling.

Like the day before, and the day before that, the euphoria is temporary. It’s soon chased away by sweating and chills and nausea and shakes. He hasn’t felt this bad in a little while now. Derek holds a bucket to Stiles chest and rubs his back as he empties the contents of his stomach yet again. Oh god, it’s so gross. So unattractive. Derek must be repulsed. If he didn’t feel so ill he’d feel embarrassed but he couldn’t.

“You know, I didn’t puke this much when I used to drink” he rasps between breaths.

“It’ll be worth it”

“I feel so unattractive” he admits.

“You’re not exactly my dream date right now, I’ll be honest” Derek teases softly, thumb stroking up and down his spine which makes Stiles muscles tense and kind of makes him more nauseous, but he never wants him to stop. “Have you been eating properly Stiles?”

Stiles nods.

“Did you eat last night?”

He remains still and Dr Hale lets out a heavy sigh.

It feels like he’s throwing up for hours, and when he’s finally done and he finally stops heaving he feels utterly exhausted. After persuading Derek to let him wash his face and clean his teeth he drops back into his bed like a rag doll, panting and shivering. Derek covers him with his sheets and blankets. He’s vaguely aware of Deaton in the room, saying everything’s okay, everything normal. It doesn’t feel normal, but Deaton’s a doctor. So he was here now too. Stiles thinks he might have said as much. It probably didn’t sound as coherent out loud as in his head.

“D- did I give him too much?” Derek’s voice is weak and un-Derek like and Stiles doesn’t like it.

“No, no it’s okay Dr Hale. You did everything right. It’ll pass. He’s obviously not eating properly; I should have monitored him more closely. Go and take a break, I’ll call for one of the nurses to monitor him”

“It’s okay, I don’t want-“

“ _Derek”_

Stiles doesn’t want Derek to leave, he wants to grab him again, tell him as much, but his body won’t do what he wants, remaining still he passes out into fitful sleep.

When he wakes up it’s dark. He blinks a few times, bleary eyed. There’s a little tv at the far end of his room that wasn’t there before playing some kind of sport in a grainy picture, tiny sounder turned down low.

Scott is sat in the chair to his right. _Derek’s chair._ He has his feet up on the coffee table. He’s bouncing a tennis ball on the wall above the telly, eyes glued to the picture.

“Where did that come from?” Stiles croaks, startling Scott. He misses the ball and it bounces over his head, hitting the wall behind him and clattering to the floor. On closer inspection he realises it’s not a telly but an old laptop sat on his desk.

“ _Shit._ Stiles! You’re awake!” he jumps up, grabbing a glass of water he hadn’t noticed on his bedside table and handing it to Stiles. His throat is sore. He accepts it gratefully, downing half. “I found this in the store cupboard. It belonged to one of our patients.. months ago.”

Stiles swallows. “Did.. did he die?”

Scott gasps. “What?! No! No, he left it behind when he was discharged. Said he had a Mac at home. He said, and I quote _‘you can give it to one of your new poor-buggers’_ ”

“That’s me” Stiles mumbles grumpily. He props his pillows against the wall and sits up, leaning against them. “What’re we watching?”

“Lacrosse”

“Lacrosse? Isn’t that.. for girls?”

Scott snorts indignantly. “I played Lacrosse in school!”

“Figures”

“It’s fun! Hey, when you’re feeling better I could teach you how to play?”

Stiles kind of snorts by way of reply. It’s meant as a _‘hell no’_ but Scott obviously takes it to mean the opposite. “It’s fun, basically…” and he launches into the full set of rules sending Stiles right back off to sleep, but this time it’s relaxed and reviving.

 

**

The next week or so is much of the same. Derek and Dr. Deaton deliberate over his medication _yet again_ , struggling to get him within the ‘therapeutic range’ or whatever it was they are always mumbling about. After a while he does start to notice the easing back off of his symptoms. He’s never as sick again as he was that day, and by the end of the week he hasn’t thrown up at all in three days, which for him is a record. He’s eating too. There’s a lot of pressure on him to do so, from Deaton, Derek, Scott, and even Isaac who seems to think he’s one of his careers now too. It was being threatened with build-up shakes that had really motivated him. They’d been forced upon him before, by the studio, when he’d lost too much weight. They were vile and too sweet and in the end he’d begun mixing them with vodka, which yeah, disgusting, and they’d been confiscated.

He still has the shakes physically though; that was the worst thing. The shakes and the anxiety. The crying had gotten so bad Scott had begun to drag him by the collar to the group therapy sessions. He never said anything. But he sat and he listened to the others stories which were all a thousand times worse than his and in a strange way it guilted a kind of determination into him.  


“You think you’ll ever share your story?” Scott had asked one day.

Stiles runs his hand along the wall as he walks back to his room. “Nah. I think.. some of them kind of like me. If I told them..” he shrugs, trailing off. “Hey, where’s Dr Hale?” he asks. He’d wanted to ask as soon as Scott had swung by for him that afternoon but hadn’t wanted to look too interested.

“It was his turn to go out with some of the residents.”

“Go out? For a walk?”

“To town I think. This isn’t prison Stiles. You are allowed to go out. _Supervised,_ obviously, but Deatons pretty forward thinking. He knows it’s no good getting sober in clinic, you have to be able to maintain it in the real world.”

Stiles thinks about this for a while, peering out the tall floor to ceiling windows that line the corridors. All he can see is grass and forest for miles, then in the distance the tops of buildings, highlighting the town.

“So, I could go out?” he wonders out loud, not convinced it’s something he really wants. He’s begun to enjoy the peace of hermit life. He feels safe. But he’s always been about escaping his comfort zones. That’s why he’d been an actor all his life, even though in many ways it was his worst nightmare.

“Well, it would be up to Derek. But now you’re feeling better, maybe”

Stiles grins. This will be easy.  


“Officer Stilinski, reporting for duty” Stiles appears in the doorway to Dr. Hales treatment room later that afternoon, saluting dramatically and marching into the room.

“You’re not a cop” Derek answers sharply but Stiles doesn’t falter.

“My dad is”

Derek nearly drops whatever it is he’s fumbling with and goes still. Stiles is confused at first but then he realises. He’d slipped up and revealed something about himself. He contemplates just turning round and walking out but Derek would only have him brought back. He sighs and slips into the room, shutting the door and hopping up onto his usual spot in the middle of the examination bed with suddenly less enthusiasm.

“Bet he didn’t think too much of you getting arrested” Derek tells him flatly. The bastard.

Stiles looks down at his lap guiltily. “He’s just glad I didn’t kill myself. Or go to jail. Then.. he’d have no one” He swallows and clamps his mouth shut. Shit. Shit, he mustn’t relax too much. He has to keep his walls up, because Derek is looking at him now with genuine sympathy in his eyes and that’s dangerous.

“Sorry. I.. I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry Stiles” Derek begins.

He waves his hand dismissively “Don’t worry”, he tells him, desperate for the subject to be dropped.

Derek makes swift work of recording Stiles obs and hooking him up to the bag of fluid (his electrolytes were off. Whatever that means). His hands work quickly and deftly and Stiles watches every movement entranced. When he’s done he records his observations on Stiles’ chart at his desk and signs to say he’s given the medication. It’s a mundane routine but he can’t help but watch. He already thinks he could probably do it himself. Okay now he was being cocky.

Derek finally looks up, catching him watching. He taps his pen on his desk thoughtfully.

“Scott said you’d mentioned going out?”

Stiles smirks. Word travels fast here. “Oh that, yeah. I’m pretty, I mean, not that’s it’s not lovely here, but yeah, I’m pretty sick of this building. I didn’t know we could go out. You trying to keep me all to yourself?” he quirks an eyebrow, trying to set the tone back to light-heartedness.

“I didn’t bother mentioning it because you’ve been in no state to go. And hardly, I’d be stuck with you probably if you went out anyway” he shoots back. “So, what would you want to do?” he asks nonchalantly, flicking on his computer monitor and typing whatever.

“What would I… ooh” Stiles lays back on the bed, crossing his ankles and folding his hands on his stomach. “A bath. Because I never even knew I liked baths until my only option was a communal shower. TiVo” the rehab had tv but the programs were old and closely monitored so as not to be ‘triggering’. Mostly sports, replays of old games. Animal programs. Game shows. “I don’t know, live TV! The outside world.” He sighs, closing his eyes.

“Bowling?”

“Huh?” Stiles turns his head to look at Derek.

“I’m going bowling with some of the residents next week. There’s a spot if you wanna come”

“Do we have to go in a minibus?” he grimaces because minibuses just made him think of school clubs and summer camps and, he shivers at the thought.

“No. You all get your own sports cars”

Stiles sits up quickly, grinning at Derek. “Was that.. no it couldn’t-.. was that, sarcasm?” he gasps, holding his chest in mock shock. Derek just rolls his eyes. “I’m totally rubbing off on you” he says proudly. “Euston I’ve found it! That little oddity; Derek Hale’s sense of humour!”

The Dr tries to ignore him. “Well let me know-“

“Yeah, I’ll come” he shrugs, because he’s got nothing better to do and hey, if Derek is gonna be there he is in no doubt that he will have an interesting night.

Something prints and Derek picks it up, scanning the sheet of paper and smiling lightly. “Okay. Your blood results are through, your electrolyte balance is improving. Hopefully this will be the last day you need the Hartmanns” he says, as if that should mean something to Stiles and gets up and wanders back over to the counter to begin transcribing the results into Stiles folder.

“Whoopee! Do they not do a card for that? Can I get a banner, throw a party?”

“Stiles! This is a good thing” Derek admonishes lightly.

Stiles hops off the bed and wanders over to Derek, bumping their hips together and watching over his shoulder as he write the notes. He hadn’t quite meant to stand so close but when Derek hadn’t pulled away he couldn’t bring himself to be the one to. He swallows, closing his eyes for a minute, feeling Derek’s heat leak through his shirt and bleed into Stiles. He could almost forget they were together on professional terms… No. This was bad. He was getting far too attached to his doctor. His most probably very straigh Doctor – a fact Stiles would do well to remember. He was sexy, it was perfectly fine to admit that, and Stiles was horny, obviously, he wasn’t getting any, so he could forgive himself for wanting to get a little jiggy, but he had to refrain from any real _feelings._

“See, exciting stuff” Derek quips, suddenly pulling away, leaving Stiles feeling deprived. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?” he says dismissively, sitting back behind his desk.

“You trying to get rid of me?” Stiles clamps down on his thoughts and flutters his eyelashes.

Derek laughs. “No, I have a patient. You’re not the only one you know”

“No, but the best” he winks as he strolls out and yup, that was a smile on Derek’s face. He’d caused that. A way better achievement than balancing his electrolyte thingys, he felt at least. Okay, he was in way over his head.


	7. Naltrexone - an opioid antagonist used in the management of alcohol dependence. It blocks the effects of drugs by inhibiting the receptors.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Scott take the patients bowling.

It’s four o’clock Friday afternoon of Stiles fifth week at the Beacon Hills Rehab Clinic. He had spent the morning at one of the centers workshops entitled _‘Your path to a brighter future’_. The session hadn’t been as utterly traumatizing as the name had suggested. They’d had to write a set of goals that they wanted to achieve in the next year, five years and ten years. They then had to come up with steps to help them achieve these goals. Stiles still wasn’t sold on the idea of sharing his life with any of the members of staff here so had been allowed to take part in the activity without letting anyone see his lists.

He’d been attending classes for the last week. Mostly just to keep Isaac happy. He just went to whichever ones the kid did (which was why he’d ended up with shit like this. And pottery. Fucking pottery). He had learnt a bit more about Isaac’s tragic story though. The kid spoke _all the time_ but not that often about himself. Or his life pre-rehab. Only what he was planning to do after, which Stiles supposed was good. Isaac’s dad was an alcoholic. Although it had never been said in so many words, Stiles got the impression he beat Isaac, which made him feel sick to his stomach. When Isaac lost his mum his only way to deal with his dad was to join him. Stiles could feel the anger growing in his body again, just like when Isaac had spoken about it. He crunched up a piece of paper and threw it hard at the wastepaper basket (he missed, but not by much!). Isaac’s story had reminded Stiles again of what a piece of dirt he was. Isaac had a real reason to be ill, not like him.

“What did you put for ten years?” Isaac leans over, bumping his shoulder. Stiles jumps out of his thoughts and quickly snaps his paper to his chest but doesn’t immediately say anything. The brushing of shoulders had been totally accidental and meant nothing but had reminded him of how alone he felt. He hadn’t been touched in a meaningful way in so long and he didn’t see it happening any time soon. In fact, the only time he received any real physical contact from another human being at the moment was when Doctor Hale or Scott were injecting him full of drugs or checking his vital signs. _How romantic._

He avoids Isaac’s question easily by asking what he’s put, and covertly tucking his notes into his back pocket.

After the session Stiles had Skyped with his father for the first time since arriving. He’d exchanged a fair amount of texts with Erica over the last week and knew they were both doing well but actually seeing their faces had affected him more than he had expected. He’d got a lump in his throat immediately and had been able to do little more than smile dopily as Erica told him of the new man in her life, his name was Boyd and he was the new deputy at the police station. The sheriff approved, as long as they took it slow. He actually had to look at the ceiling and blink away a few tears when Erica told him proudly how she had been enforcing Stiles ‘one-takeaway-a-week’ rule on his father, except last week they’d eaten in Denny’s, she’d only found evidence of McDonalds on the Sheriff a handful of times. When they’d had to say their goodbyes Stiles was hit with a sudden overwhelming wave of sadness and had had to hang up quickly, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his hoody and sitting alone in the computer room for twenty minutes, composing himself.

He missed his father more than he’d expected. More than he’d realised. And he felt more guilty than ever about what he’d put him through the last few years.  


He’d rushed a quick shower and no sooner had he dried off and slipped on his trackies, Scott had come to call.  


“I don’t know what to wear” Stiles complains, trawling through his little wardrobe, tearing out yet another shirt and discarding it. Why hadn’t he bought anything _nice_ with him? Because he hadn’t expected to actually bond with anyone. To care what anyone thinks..

“I didn’t realise it was customary to dress up for bowling?” Scott said, a hint of amusement evident in his voice as the nurse drops down onto Stiles bed, swinging his feet up and sitting back to enjoy the show. Scott looked casual yet smart, in tight black jeans and a brown polo.

“Yeah well when you’ve spent five weeks here without seeing the outside world, you’ll understand” Stiles grumbles, holding a pale blue shirt up against his torso, eyeing himself critically in the mirror, before tossing that one aside too. “Eugh, this is ridiculous”

Obviously feeling some kind of pity for him, Scott pushes himself back up off the bed and steps up next to Stiles to see what they have to work with. “What about this?” he pulls out a plain black tshirt, holding it up against Stiles. Reluctantly, he slides off the tatty, faded blue one he’d been wearing and tries on the black one, looking at himself in the mirror with disdain.

“Oh my god, none of my clothes fit anymore!” he wails. “I’ve put on like, half a stone at least”

“Nine pounds actually” Scott corrects matter-of-factly. “And you’re looking all the better for it”

Glaring alternately at Scott and his reflection Stiles tugs at the hem of the top self-consciously. When he’d bought the medium six months ago it had been loose, swamping his petite figure, hiding himself away a little. He’d always opted for baggier clothes and layers but as he’d found himself more and more in the public eye it had becomes a sort of security blanket. Something he _had_ to do, rather than a preference. He couldn’t stop his picture from appearing in the tabloids but he could hide how much of himself the picture displayed. Now however, the tshirt fitted, probably as it was supposed to, but not how Stiles liked. He could make out the soft lines of his pectoral muscles and the definite dip of his waist.

“It’s too tight”

“It looks good!”

Critically Stiles runs the palms of his hands down his softer stomach. “Oh god, I’m getting fat”

Raising his eyebrows disapprovingly Scott plucks a soft mauve shirt from a hanger and passes it to Stiles.

“Stiles, when you got here you were _very_ underweight. Hell you’re still pretty underweight, but not so much. You’re looking better, trust me” he says warmly.

He’s unconvinced but he takes the shirt and slips it on, buttoning it to the top and rolling the sleeves up. With one last skeptical look to the mirror he shrugs. “Guess this is as good as it’s gonna get.” He thinks aloud, matching the shirt with fitted black jeans Old Skool Vans.

They make their way outside, stopping to call for an excited Isaac on the way.

“This is so cool!” he’s babbling happily. “When I was a kid we lived two blocks from- from the local bowling alley and when my cousins were in town, they would take me. I can still remember when I got my first strike. I won.. what did I win.. I think it was a key chain… anyway it doesn’t matter-”

Scott slides Stiles an amused look which he returns and for a minute he forgets where he is and why he’s there. That’s until they get outside and approach the minivan. Stiles groans.

“This is.. is this punishment? Like, are you rubbing it in? This is so embarrassing”

“It’s practical”

Stood outside the van was Doctor Derek Hale, clip board in hand, sour expression on face. Stiles saunters up to him.

“Oh my god, are you actually doing a register?” he teases.

“Stilinski” he mumbles, ticking presumably his name on the list, not once looking up.

“Is that so none of us get lost? Do we have to hold hands when we cross the road? Do we all get assigned a number and do roll call every hour? Do we have-“

“You’re holding up my queue”

“I’m not done”

“I am” but Derek looks up at him through those long dark lashes and quirks a rare smile that has Stiles stomach turning somersaults and he’s suddenly in a massive rush to get on the bus before anyone catches him blushing.

They walk to the back and Stiles drops down at the far left window seat, propping his legs up on the seat opposite. Isaac sits next to him and Scott opposite Isaac, propping his rucksack on the seat with Stiles feet. He watches out the window as they drive into town, tuning out Scott and Isaac as they jabber about bowling and Lacrosse and some band that’s just announced a tour date at some town nearby that they were gonna try and get tickets to. As they descended further down one of the towns namesake hills trees become houses; the first few wide set and colonial but as more cars join them on the road the houses get smaller, mostly terraced, and interceded by gift shops and diners. It’s Stiles first good look at Beacon Hills as anything other than a map of yellow lights out his window at night. His only other chance had been the journey there which he’d spent sulking and bickering with Erica.

“Ooh ooh, that’s the best Diner in town!” Isaac chirps happily, leaning over and pointing as they pass a small restaurant with a yellow and red striped canopy, three metal tables outside and a big blue sign that read ‘Mac’s Diner’. “Mac is awesome. They have a jukebox in there with all these old hits from like, the sixties and there’s a soda fountain and they do the bacon jalapeno burgers with this melted cheese..” his voice trails off as he leans back smiling. “As soon as I get out, I’m gonna go there and order three. And a shake. And Mac’s-stack-o-pancakes for afters…” he says, eyes shut. It’s the first time Stiles has heard Isaac mention ‘getting out’. He doesn’t know why it surprises him so much, but it does, setting an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Where did Isaac live? Did he have a home in Beacon Hills? What would Stiles do if Isaac got out before him? It was probably likely seeing as he’d already been there when he’d arrived..

He was disturbed from his thoughts as the bus pulls into a large car park which belonged to the bowling complex. A McDonalds sat at the far end of the car park and off to the left was a filled with signs for dog walking and picnics.

“Here we go!” Scott claps his hands together.

Stiles had never been particularly good at bowling. He was clever in school. Embarrassingly so. However nothing he endeavored in physically had ever equaled his academic skill. That being said, next to Scott, he looked practically professional. Isaac somewhat surprisingly was second on the board (some old dude on their side had played for a team in Sacramento at some point). Apparently those bowling sessions with his cousins had really paid off, it was fun to watch him bowl because he enjoyed it so much. Stiles had scored a modest 105, with two strikes and three spares. Scott however, was on 79, and even then Stiles had actually bowled him his only spare when he’d been to the toilet.

“I’m getting the hang of it now” Scott nods enthusiastically, getting eight on his last bowl.

“Can we have another game?” Isaac begs with a small chorus of agreement from the other people there. Checking his watch, Scott nods and looks over to Derek for confirmation.

The doctor bites his lips and shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. I’m gonna go get refreshments, everyone thirsty?”

Yeah, everyone is.

“I’ll help” Stiles suggests, because really, how is Derek meant to carry twelve soft drinks back to the aisle. Even with a tray that would be asking a bit much. Yup. _That’s the reason._

“You don’t want to play another game?” Isaac pouts but Scott swings and arm across his shoulders and drags him away, winking at Stiles.

Stiles gulps, before realising Derek isn’t waiting for him and is already halfway across to the bar.

“Can I get er, six Pepsi’s and six lemonades?” he’s asking when Stiles approaches. The poor teen behind the bar however is looking more than a little flustered.

“Craig! Seriously. Get in here!” a ginger haired girl is calling from the kitchen door at the back, gesturing wildly for the barman. Craig turns back to them with an equally panicked expression and apologetic eyes.

“I’m sorry , we’re having a.. crisis. I’ll be _right_ back” he promises before dashing off. The door swings shut behind him, a loud crash following.

Chuckling to himself, Stiles hops up onto the bar. “He’s _so_ not gonna be right back” he points out, somewhat obviously.

Derek rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest.

“Hey, it’s not my fault!” Stiles holds his hands up in defense.

They stay like that in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Derek reading the menu tacked above the bar, Stiles watching their crew bowling over Derek’s shoulder. It isn’t until the Doctor shifts and his hip brushes the inside of Stiles knee they look at each other again. It was such a tiny movement, such a gentle touch, but it sent a jolt of electricity up Stiles leg, making the muscles around his crotch twitch, and zapping straight into his belly. He blushes and looks away for a moment, and when he looks back Derek is watching him.

“You’re not such a good bowler” he points out.

A tight smile spreads across Stiles lips. “Least I’m having a go” he raises a challenging eyebrow.

“I’m working”

“Are you ever not?”

“Rarely”

“I wanna see” they fall quiet again, and Stiles worries that maybe he’s just crossed a line until Derek shuffles again, his hip resting ever so slightly against the inside of Stiles knee again. It’s his own fault. He’s sat on the counter with his legs spread obscenely wide but Derek doesn’t have to be stood _quite_ so perfectly between them. His eyes regard Stiles and it’s as if he’s seeing him for the first time. They flick down to his lips for a minute, but snap away quickly. Stiles must be imagining it. It’s all fair and well for him to have an insane crush on the ridiculously hot Doctor. Any gay man in his right mind would. But Derek isn’t like that. He’s probably straight. 90%. For sure. _And even if he wasn’t why would he be interested in Stiles?_

But Derek still isn't backing away. “Get better” he says quietly, and it’s obvious they’re no longer talking about bowling. Stiles gulps.

“I am” Stiles tells him assuredly. “I’ve even been going to some of those crappy classes with Isaac. I went to one this morning”

“So I heard”

“Oh really?” Stiles raises his eyebrows again and grins much too brightly.

“What did you have to do?”

“Write a one year, five year and ten year plan”

“What did you put?”

Finally Stiles smile falters. He sucks in his top lip thoughtfully, casting his gaze out across the hall and away from Derek. He locks his hands together, wringing them nervously. “One year, sober. Home. Repaired relationships with my dad and.. sister. I want a pet. I want to be able to take care of one. I wanna learn to cook for myself. And re-sit my driving test. I er, had my license suspended” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, still avoiding eye contact. “Five years; Sober. My own place. Not.. not the- I have kind of a bachelor pad now. I want a nice apartment. Pet, preferably still alive. And a job. I’m not sure what. Probably not acting… I wanna be able to fix things. Like, when the oven breaks. Fix my car a bit. I want my dad to not be worrying about me. Because he does, and it’ll make him sick.. I… miss him” his voice trails off and he has to swallow that familiar ball of emotion in his throat he seems to get when his dads involved. He’s glad Derek doesn’t say anything straight away because he’s trying to stabilize his feelings and he thinks he’s maybe shared too much. But Derek reaches a careful hand forward, laying it over Stiles and squeezing it gently.

A minute passes before Stiles looks at him. Their eyes lock for a moment but then they realise who and where they are and Derek snatches his hand back, clearing his throat. “Er, what about ten years?” he says, voice deep.

Shaking his head Stiles forces a smile. “No. You don’t get to know that”

“ _Okay okay I’m back. Six lemonades and six pepsi’s right? I’m on it!”_ Craig is back, pink cheeked, pulling paper cups from a stack and placing them under the taps.

Stiles pushes off the counter, Derek’s reaction is slow and their bodies rub against each other but both chose to pointedly ignore this.

Scott loses at bowling twice more and Stiles has his first big mac in three years before they head home. It’s only half eight when they get in and they all go to the canteen and have hot chocolate and sit on beanbags and watch You’ve Been Framed and laugh and this time Stiles is aware of where he is, but he’s okay with it. It’s not ideal, but right now, it’s right.


	8. Ascorbic acid - a naturally occurring organic compound with antioxidant properties. Replenishes

Stiles lays down, closing his eyes. His fingers are twitching at his sides. His heart is beating hard in his chest. His throat is sore from spending the night with his forehead resting on the toilet seat. One simply tweak of his medication and his body was stubbornly rejecting everything else.

_“Why do you think you turned to alcohol? Your life was good. You had things most people could only dream of. Why?”_

His jaw clamps firmly shut because the only answer he can think of is to punch Doctor Harris in the face.

The psychologist continues. “Mr Stilinski, physical rehabilitation is only half of it. You’re making great steps there but you will never recover if you don’t open your mind to _mental rehabilitation”_

He could easily make some snotty comment about how it didn’t feel like his physical rehabilitation was going particularly well right now but again he kept his mouth shut. He’d managed to avoid seeing the in house psychiatrist after his initial assessment had uncovered that he was currently no threat to himself or anyone else. Whoopie. Hardly achievement of the year. Doctor Harris made him nervous. He didn’t trust him. But it was a necessity every resident saw him on at the very least a monthly basis so Stiles had no choice but to attend.

“Mr Stil-“

“Harris”

Stiles feels his whole body relax. He’s never been so pleased to hear Derek’s sharp growl as he interrupts the over-running psychiatry session he had really not been in the mood for.

“Ah Doctor Hale, I’m afraid I’m not quite done-“

“Well I’m afraid his main program is that of medical rehabilitation rather than mental and you’re running into my time so” Derek tells the psychiatrist firmly, leaving no room whatsoever for argument. Doctor Harris lingers a moment more, a thousand excuses obviously on the tip of his tongue but he knows none of them will work so reluctantly he gathers his papers. “Seeing as how our session has been _interrupted_ I will need to see you again at some point this month”

Stiles groans.

“I’ll be in touch” and then he’s gone.

Derek potters around, tidying bits away, leaving Stiles to his vaguely darkened thoughts. People asked him why all the time but it’s not something that anyone else can understand. If you’ve not been there yourself, you’ll just never get it.

The first time he’d got drunk he’d been fifteen. He was often left to the care of the crew, he never really had a suitable minder, considering his age. They were somewhere south of the boarder and Stiles Adderall had run out two days ago and the withdrawal was getting a little out of control. He was sweating and shaking and bouncing of the walls and everyone had reached their wicks end. He wasn’t sure who gave him the first beer, maybe Tom, one of the sound techs. All he remembers was how it had numbed the buzzing in his veins and how he’d begged for a second.

At first he was shy about it. He was a long way off the legal drinking age, but nobody seemed to care, and as soon as he learnt how easy it was, it spiralled out of control. It started off as a weekend thing. Once they were done filming for the week they would hit up some joint and spend the studios budget on Desperados and forget the stresses of Hollywood life for forty eight hours. Trouble was, he was hilarious drunk. The crew loved him. He was up for anything, drinking straight from the taps, doing body shots off of women twice his age. Slowly weekend drinking spilled into week days because it suddenly came to him one night how shit he felt sober and how good he felt drunk, so why didn’t he just get drunk all the time?

“It was just so easy” he mumbles, not realising he’s started thinking out loud.

Derek pauses, casting a look over his shoulder to Stiles whose eyes are still shut.

“The alcohol. People _wanted_ to give it to me. Because I was easier to deal with”

A long silence stretches out between them. Derek waits patiently for Stiles to continue his train of thought but he seems to have forgotten where he was going with it because he just sighs heavily, shaking his head a little and swinging his legs round to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I guess I should go” he says eventually, eyes sleepy as he drags them up Derek’s chest and fixes them on his face.

“You look tired” The doctor observes. It could have come across bitchy, anyone else saying that to him, and in that pinched tone, but he knows with Derek it’s out of concern. What he doesn’t know is whether that was purely medical concern, or something more friendly. This was becoming an increasingly evident problem every time they interacted. Stiles was aware that he should probably assume everything Derek does or says to him is coming from his doctor. But he can’t help the wonder.

“Yeah, I am. That run earlier… really took it out of me. God, I’m getting so out of shape. The producers will kill me”

“They should be concerned with your wellbeing Stiles. Maybe you should take it easy with the exercise. You’d lost a lot of weight-“

“I like running” Stiles shrugs. “I did track in school. It helps me clear my mind. It also does wonders for the ADHD. I got really obsessed once and if I didn’t go for my run it would literally be like I hadn’t taken my meds” he chuckles humourlessly and rubs the back of his neck a little embarrassed.

Derek offers a small smile and wanders over, opening his door for Stiles. “Well, I’d rather you just took it easy and let us continue to build you up. But if you’re dead set on this, I’ll take you running.”

Stiles snorts but when he sees Derek’s confusion he raises his eyebrows. “You.. you’re serious? Dude no way, look at you! I couldn’t run with you!”

Derek looks even more confused now, those wonderful eyebrows pulling together. It’s adorable really but he must be aware of… _him._ Of his practical ‘Greek God’ status. No? Maybe it was just Stiles…

“Okay” he shrugs, hopping off the bed and making towards the door feeling increasingly weary. If he didn’t feel so utterly exhausted he might try and stay, bug Derek a little longer, but he can’t be bothered. “Sure. We’ll jog. How cliché” he chuckles as he wanders out, patting Derek a few times on the shoulder for good measure before waving over his shoulder. **“** _ **Sayōnara**_ ”

“Goodnight Stiles” comes a gruff response.

** It’s six am. Stiles hasn’t seen this hour since he was on set and three am role-calls were the norm. He glares at himself in the mirror which, granted, he should have avoided. His hair will not comply, the side he’d laid on was plastered flat against his face, and the other side was sticking out at ninety degree angles. Despite an early night he still looked tired too; faint purplish bags hooded his only half open eyes. He yawns again, making them water.

“Fuck it” he mumbles, hurrying out of his room before he can change his mind, or his outfit. He was going jogging for Christ sake, why did it matter whether his top matched his purple trackies or whether the black tshirt washed him out? But when Derek was involved, it just did.

He jogs casually down the still dark corridor to the front of the building, easing himself through the front door, he stops dead. Derek is stood at the bottom of the steps. There’s a dark hoody bunched up on the wall next to him but at the moment he’s only wearing shorts and a tight white vest and Stiles, Stiles will never un-see this. Fucking _shorts._ It’s practically obscene. Given they’re long basketball ones but teamed with that vest and _so-much-arm…_

Derek doesn’t notice him straight away, his eyes closed as he rolls his neck. When he spots Stiles, who is openly staring at him he blushes.

“O- sorry” he stutters, before offering a shy smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and does wonderful things to Stiles insides. “Are you okay?”

“Y… yeah”

“Sleep okay?”

Stiles coughs and rolls his eyes, jogging down the steps and past Derek in order to hide his own reddening cheeks. “God, when did you get so friendly? I think I liked you better mean!”

“I was never mean!” Derek retorts but has to ‘casually’ overtake Stiles.

Stiles follows Derek as he leads him across a trail that winds into the forest and up the hill. The higher they get, the better view of Beacon Hills Stiles gets and he can’t help the overwhelming curiosity he suddenly has for the town. He’d always expected that as soon as he leaves the treatment centre he’d be heading straight home, but now he was pretty sure he’d have to book into a hotel, at least for a night or two, and explore every corner of the sleepy town he watched from his window.

Derek pauses for a moment to let Stiles catch up with him. He smiles triumphantly as the kid reaches him, gasping for air. He was rosey cheeked and his nose was running a little in the fresh early morning air but he looked surprisingly healthy.

“You see that building there, the big one with the field out back? That’s the primary school, where Scott’s girlfriend Allison works. Over there” he points off to the left. “That’s Beacon Hills high. Pretty much everyone in this town went there. We all did”

Stiles beams, wiping his nose on the cuff of his hoody. “I can just picture a young Derek Hale running around that field. What did you play? You weren’t a Lacrosse player too were you?”

Derek chuckles. “I dabbled. Lacrosse is kind of our sport, so that’s where all the money was. I was a baseball player though. That was my thing”

When they reach the top of the hill Derek drops down onto his back, arms behind his head, knees bent, showing off way too much leg. It took Stiles five minutes longer to reach him, dropping his hands to his knees and doubling over panting when he does, despite the doctor barely breaking a sweat. "So-outta-shape" he gasps. He stays like this, each deep breath of cold air burning his lungs a little less until it finally stops being painful to breath. When it does he turns, straightening up, hands on hips, following Derek's gaze down the hill and past the forest to the town below. Right at the back, behind the last row of houses, a red slither has appeared, casting pink light across the town and up to them. When he turns he notices Derek's eyes are now fixed on him instead of the view. He couldn't fight the smug grin on his face even if he tried. "Oh my god, you're a secret romantic aren't you?" He's not sure if Derek's blushing or if it's just the glow of the sunrise but he'd like to think it was the former. "So this was why we had to be up so early! You're so cute!" He skips over, dropping down close beside Derek and making to pinch his cheeks in affection but if course he's not quick enough, Derek easily wrestling his hands off of him. A lot of play fighting ensues until Stiles realises Derek's ticklish and tries to use this to his advantage leaving the older man no choice but to actually start trying which results in Stiles easily being pinned beneath him. Derek watches Stiles. He has his hands clamped over his skinny wrists and his body pressed down on him, careful that it's not all his weight, a good thirty pounds more than Stiles's he would guess. The younger man looks back up at him, rich chocolate eyes flecked with gold, pupils blown wide, totally trusting. He's surprised how good it feels, having his warm presence underneath him. How right. Their bodies seem to just… _fit._ "Are you going to behave now?" He asks, trying his best to sound menacing but knowing he's failed miserably because his lips keep twitching at the corners like he’s going to smile and he’s trying to scowl but it’s just not working right now. Stiles blinks innocently. "Sorry, I'm just trying to digest the fact that you're a romantic. You took me to watch the sunrise" he says in awe and Derek swallows taken aback because the way he says it is as if no ones ever taken him to watch a sunrise, or similar. "Yeah, and you're ruining it by talking" he quips affectionately which, of corse, queue more talking from Stiles... "How did you know the right time? To come? Like, the exact time the sun rises? Did you plan this? Like, when you agreed to take me for a run was this always wha-" "Stiles" Derek tries to sound annoyed but oh my god he’s actually embarrassed by the sound of his own voice because it comes out so damn needy. All husky and deep and _wanting_ and it’s just gross but Stiles is smiling at him happily, if not a little smugly. “I jog nearly every day. I know when the sun rises. This is just the best time” But Stiles doesn’t listen. "So that's why you brought me here" he says softly. "So you can seduce me with sunrises then ravish me" “Ravish?” Derek groans and rolls off him, onto his back so they can lie side by side. "I actually didn't take you here to hook up" "Then why?" Stiles asks not hiding his disappointment particularly well, because he would be totally fine with it if that had been the reason. Like, really _really_ fine. Derek chuckles lightly, suddenly feeling a little shy. "To talk" he says quietly. "Oh" comes an even quieter reply leaving Derek no way of gaging what he thinks of this idea. "It's just.. I, we still hardly know anything about each other" "If you wanted to know something all you had to do was ask" "Well, at least here we’re on level ground" he shrugs. It would feel weird asking questions as a doctor. Like Stiles would feel obliged to answer. "We're so not level" Stiles mumbles self-depreciatingly.

Despite the purpose of the excursion being to talk, they lay in silence until the sun has risen fully from behind the houses of Beacon Hills and is a good few inches in the sky when Stiles squints and holds out his hand to it.

Eventually Derek sighs and looks over at Stiles, red light illuminating his pale skin. “Tell me about yourself”. He words it as an order but his tone pitches it as a question.

“… Why don’t you google it?” Stiles wisecracks and Derek drops his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow looking unimpressed, if not just a little outraged.

“I… no! No, no way”

Stiles props himself up on his elbows and looks down at the older man. “Really?” he can’t deny he’s a little shocked. “You’ve never… been tempted?” and yeah, a little disappointed again.

“Well, tempted, sure. But, I’d never do that. It’s not like you can even believe what you read online anyway. Unless.. It’s like, a medical journal or something..”

Stiles gets the overwhelming urge to just leap forward and kiss Derek’s beautiful lips purely out of gratitude because oh my god if that isn’t the most refreshing thing he’s ever heard. He can’t even express how much it means to him, to actually be forming a bond with someone, on a level playing field…maybe his silence says it all. They lay quietly for a while longer and now the sun is almost all the way up and the birds are getting louder and Stiles is starting to wonder how long they’ve actually been here but that’s just gonna have to wait.

“I’m from San Francisco. My dad was the Sheriff. When... when I was ten my mum died. My dad.. hit a bad patch. Mum died… slowly. We were in debt up to her eyeballs! I guess drinking runs in the family. Or maybe I’m just extra stupid for seeing what it did to him then doing the same, but you know, monkey see monkey do. Anyway we got super hard up and my dad saw this ad for kids to be in this commercial. As you can see, I’m kinda adorable” he shrugs. “Well they loved me and one thing lead to another and they bought me in on this sitcom as the kid of the new neighbours in town. I guess I got lucky because the family were a hit and I ended up getting a love interest and we got some money and my dad cleaned up his act, got a gig as the Sheriff over in Oakland, not quite as good but smaller town life suits him better, plus he was so happy for me. Always saying how proud mum would be. We were finally able to start paying off mums medical bills. When I got to sixteen and realised how much of life I was missing out on, I was too far in…”

There’s an uncomfortable silence when he trails off and he squeezes his eyes shut, praying he hasn’t just scared Derek off, but then a surprisingly warm hand is grasping for his and squeezing it reassuringly. “So you drank” he fills in quietly.

Stiles nods. “It just kind of… spiralled out of control.”

Derek is trying so damn hard not to ask any stupid questions, because Stiles is opening up to him and he has to do it at his own pace, he mustn’t try and pry information from him, but there’s one thing, that seems pretty harmless, he just can’t resist but to ask. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“What?” Stiles laughs incredulously, because he’s just laid it all out there and _that’s_ what Derek wants to ask?

“I just… I mean, I thought it was gonna be something..”

Stiles nods. “Something worse right? Yeah I know. That’s exactly why. I mean, I have no excuse really. I’m living the life. When you put my story up against Isaac’s…” he shakes his head.

“No!” Derek says firmly, sitting up and glaring back at him “No, don’t say that. You’re reason…it’s as good as any”

Conversation flows easier from then. Stiles chats a little about the show. He’d struggled with the schedule and the pressure and the fame but that wasn’t to say he didn’t have lots of fond memories and funny stories. It’s nearly twelve when Deaton rings Derek. Stiles isn’t sure if the doctors in trouble, he keeps his expression neutral, but he can hear Deaton a little louder down the phone than he would expect, so they hurry back.


	9. Creon -  a combination of three enzymes usually created in the Pancreas. Alcoholics often suffer pancreatic insufficiency.

It’s 6:05 on a Saturday evening. Stiles has been at the clinic for two months now.

“Stiles” Scott is knocking on his door again. “We’re late. The taxi’s here, we really gotta go”

He’s on the edge of hyperventilating. He can feel it. At the start and end of every season of his tv show they would film in front of a live studio audience. Stiles hated it more than anything. He would dread it for weeks beforehand. It would stop him sleeping, eating. He would throw up everything he ate the day before. He also had panic attacks. Well he’d always had panic attacks, before anything he had to do in front of actual people, except he hadn’t in a few years because: alcohol. He found if he got suitably plastered before an appearance, well at least he didn’t puke until after. But he no longer had that security blanket. Drinking was absolutely not an option. He had to face this alone.

He covers his face with his hands and sucks in slow deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He can feel his forehead is sweating and the collar of his check shirt feels too tight around his neck, almost suffocating him.

“ _Pull yourself together Stiles”_ he mumbles into the palms of his hands before ripping them away from his face, grabbing his dark grey wool coat and heading for the door.

“There you are dude! I was starting to think you’d made a break for it out the window or something!” Scott jokes obliviously. “Hey, I’m glad you’re coming. I know that sounds dumb coz like.. I’m your nurse or whatever, but.. we’re friends right? Because, I think of you as a friend. Even though I’ve only known you like two months, I know but-“

“Dude!” Stiles stops Scott on the top step of the clinic. Isaac is sat in the back of the car down the bottom on the road with Derek, Doctor Martin is in the drivers seat. “You’re freaking out worse than me, what’s the problem? You forget to get her a present or something?”

A look of utter horror flashes across Scott’s face and for a second Stiles thinks he actually has, but then he starts frantically tapping his pockets until he feels what he’s looking for. He reaches into his breast shirt pocket and lo and behold reveals a small navy blue box. He snaps it open and holds it out shyly for Stiles. Inside is a beautiful white gold solitaire cut diamond engagement ring. Stiles eyes bulge. “Oh my god, is that.. no way! Congratulations!” Stile cheers, suddenly understanding why Scott had been so adamant they all be in attendance tonight. They hug briefly and hurry down the steps.

Ten minutes later he’s sat squashed into the back of Dr Martin, Lydia’s Porsche, somehow between Isaac and Derek, and all his overwhelming nerves are back again.

“You alright?” Derek whispers. The Doctor is wearing a black shirt with the top button undone and tightly fitted grey suit pants. He is a sight for sore eyes to say the least and Stiles can’t quite bring himself to look at him because he knows he won’t be able to stop. It’s the first time he’s actually going to properly see Derek outside of work, a fact he’s acutely aware of, even if it doesn’t really feel like it because they are going to be predominantly with people from the clinic, but Stiles is trying desperately hard to not acknowledge that tonight they are on, almost, a level playing field.

“Uh-huh” he nods, not even convincing himself. It’s only the unusual softness in Derek’s voice that prompts him to answer. “I’m er, not so good at… _this”_ he makes a small gesture with his hands. “You know, people, formal occasions, expectations of… good behaviour”

Derek says nothing but one of his hands squeezes into the small space between his thigh and Stiles and lays across the back of Stiles hand. It’s so casual an non-committal it could almost be a coincidence, but Stiles knows it’s not.

“Okay” he whispers quietly, understandingly.

Stiles nods stiffly.  


Allison has chosen the restaurant for tonight, obviously, a small Chinese down one of the towns back roads. It has a large fish tank integrated into one wall. Red Chinese lanterns hang from the ceiling and there's at least three shelves dedicated solely to those gold cat figurines that wave. They're kind of making him feel even more uneasy. They munch on prawn crackers and spring rolls as they read the menus. Stiles can't stop himself from watching Scott and Allison, not without a hint of jealousy. They are so easy with each other. Scott hangs on her every word, his eyes wide and adoring. Allison is mindful to speak to everyone on the table, and not just Scott as he'd probably like, but the whole time she touches him; lacing their fingers together, leaning against him, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand as she listens to Dr Martin rave about the new Ralph Lauren AW collection. He rests his chin on his hand and sighs, realising that this is the first time for a long time he feels genuinely happy for someone else. Like, he's actually getting joy from watching them, because Scott is one of the sweetest guys he's ever met and he deserves this. He deserves to be happy. Way more so than Stiles. Stiles has no right to be jealous. Allison recants stories about her day at work and how six of her kids had made her happy birthday/ favourite teacher cards. Stiles is surprised to feel the vibration of his phone in his pocket. They were allowed to take their phones with them; this was rehab not prison – as Deaton so frequently like to remind them. They were encouraged to put new sims in provided by the rehab with only program in a couple of emergency contacts. I was a way of eliminating negative influences and detaching from their every days lives that had brought them to the stage where they needed rehab. Stiles had added just Erica and his dad, neither of which would be contacting him now? He slides it out, balancing it on his thigh under the table. _'Earth to Stilinski. Everything okay?'_ And of course Derek would text in full Oxford English. He smiles. They'd exchanged numbers on the bowling trip, in case of emergency, but this was the first time the Doctor had actually made contact with him. _'Yeh except some inconsiderate bastard txting me @ dinner ;)' 'Maybe if you looked a bit happier I wouldn’t have had to’ 'U worried ‘bout me?' 'From a purely doctorly point of view' 'My gp at home doesn't txt me' 'Good'_ Stiles grins, he can't help it. They're sat across from each other and it's so damn cheesy that Stiles can’t help but expand on the stereotype a little more and straighten his legs out under the table. Immediately one of his ankles is caught gently between both of Derek's, one of his brushing up, the cuff of their pants ruffling up, allowing the briefest moment of skin to skin contact but it's enough because anymore and Stiles might have to excuse himself from the table for a little 'me-time'. Before dessert but after the proposal Isaac, Scott and he go to the bathroom together, and as if that's not gay enough fall into another round of hugging and congratulating. "I can't believe she said yes" Scott marvels for the thousandth time. "I can" Stiles says honesty, patting him firmly between the shoulder blades. "You deserve each other" "Well you better watch it. We're supposed to be the cutest couple at dinner tonight, you and Derek seriously need to stop eye-fucking each other or go take your sexual tension elsewhere!" "I- what?!" Stiles can feel his face burning red because yeah, it felt like something to him, but Derek was Derek and it just didn't seem possible that it actually was, that anyone else could possibly think it would be. Isaacs jaw has fallen slack. "Wha.. you and.. Doctor Hale?" "Yes" - "No" Scott and him say at the same time. "But.. since when?!" "Love at first sight" "I have no idea what you’re talking about, you’re a crazy person" Stiles shoves at him playfully, cheeks still visibly red in the bathroom mirror. Suddenly Isaac gets this look on his face like he's just understood the meaning of life and Stiles realises there's no way he's gonna be able to convince him that nothing's going on. "That's why he seems so.. different. Not as scary" "He's not scary, he's a big pussycat really" "Maybe for you" Scott grumbles. "For the rest of us he's still strict as ever" "Shame we can't get him drunk" Stiles makes a bad humoured joke that neither Scott or Isaac really know how to take but they both laugh in the end because yeah, only Stiles would be stupid enough to say something like that in these circumstances. When they head back to the table dessert is waiting for them. Tampura ice cream, best-thing-ever. Stiles has two. He’s going straight to hell. Or weight watchers. They get the bill which Scott offers to pay until he sees it and is then outwardly grateful when they all chip in. "So, where are we going?" Lydia Martin flips her long strawberry blonde curls over her shoulder, pouting into a compact mirror and reapplying a coat of cherry flavoured lip gloss. Stiles had to admit, she was gorgeous. He could see why Isaac hadn't wanted to change doctors. "Um, home?" Allison asks, looking between the guests to gage what they wanted. "Hey, no way! You do not even want to know how much I spent on these" she taps her turquoise six inch stilettos. "And I've hardly had a chance to show them off sat at a table all night" "You wanna go to a bar?" Says one of the guys not from the clinic who Stiles thinks is called Jackson and who seemed to have something to do with Lydia Martin as the flirting had been heavy. Allison casts a horrified look to Stiles and Isaac, jabbing Jackson with a sharp elbow. Holding his hands up in defence, Stiles shrugs. "Hey I don't mind" he says honestly. He knows he won't find it easy but he's always liked to test himself. The idea of being around alcohol and not drinking any is actually exciting to him because yeah, he's warped. But he looks over to Isaac. If Isaac doesn't fancy it they could always head back together. But Isaac just smiles. "I don't mind" "Don't be stupid, Jackson's just being a dick. Don't feel like you have to go. There are plenty of other things we could do-" Allison begins but Isaac cuts her off cheerily. "No it's fine! I mean, I'm gonna be out in a couple of weeks, what better test to see if I'm ready hey! That is, as long as Stiles really doesn't mind" He didn't, and you'd think that would be it, but they still argued over whether or not they should go for about twenty minutes and it was over half an hour before they were dropping down into a secluded booth at a bar a few blocks down, all agreed that even though what they were doing was totally okay, Deaton should probably never find out. Stiles and Scott got a bottles of coke , Isaac and the girls virgin cocktails and Derek soda water. Despite their protests Jackson was the only one to actually order an alcoholic beverage. After the initial awkwardness the evening goes well. Stiles actually buys a round of beer for everyone other than himself and Isaac. He grits his teeth as he hands them out before disappearing into the loos for five minutes afterwards to compose and congratulate himself. A couple of hours later the word 'clubbing' is being bounced around and again Stiles and Isaac say they are up for the challenge but the others are wary. "It's just crazy. When are you actually going to go clubbing when you go home?!" "All the time!" Stiles lies. Most of them have had a few beers by now, allowing the conversation to flow more freely. The only thing Stiles is really struggling with is the smell. He's not feeling excluded like they warned him he might, but then again, he never drank socially in the first place. In fact quite often he was alone when he did and if they went out he could spend nights without drinking beers easily. He drank to calm himself down, when he went out that was the last thing he wanted. Derek, who had remained silent throughout negotiations, gave Stiles an earnest look as they arrived outside 'Jungle'. It was an LBGT bar which suited them as the men weren't on the pull and that way the women were left alone. He forces a dopey smile. "Ready to get your groove on?" He teases, swaying his hips in jest. But the doctors expression doesn't lift and he sighs. "I'm fine! I swear. I would have said if I wasn't" "No you wouldn't" Derek points out probably correctly. "Okay I probably wouldn't but trust me, I'm totally fine" He really doesn't look convinced but he lets it drop. Stiles is aware of him keeping a close eye on him for the first bit of time but eventually he's obviously happy with how Stiles is coping and relaxes somewhat. By one in the morning the shots have started flowing and it's actually not that bad. If anything Stiles feels slightly drunk himself, feeding off of the clubs atmosphere and the joy between Scott and Allison and more importantly the attention off Derek. In the dark club with the loud bassy music and colourful disco lights it's almost easy to forget he was stone cold sober. Stiles watches the crowds, swaying and tripping and kissing sloppily. Skirts flashing underwear and drinks being spilt everywhere. It’s kind of hilarious. Is this how stupid he usually looks? He finds Derek at the bar, two shots in front of him. "Whoa there, lining 'em up?!" He teases, leaning a casual elbow on the bar and ignoring the almost natural urge to lift one of the shots and swallow it with ease. "Scott keeps buying them" he answers, watching Stiles face intently, presumably for an outward sign of the inside struggle he's currently trying to hide. "You better drink up then!" He's levelled with a flat look. "I'm a doctor, who works in a rehab for alcoholics. Why on earth would I want to drink shots?" Stiles gives him a dumb look. "To get drunk? It's fun. Trust me, I've tried it" Derek looks a little appalled but no longer shocked. "I don't want them" he shrugs. "Do them, or I will" Stiles waggles his eyebrows. He's joking of course, although he can't deny the urge to at least get someone else drunk in the absence of himself. The joke falls on deaf ears though because Derek looks almost panicked and does in fact neck both shots, swaying as he sets the second glass down. “You okay big guy?” Stiles nudges him with his elbow, because Derek actually doesn’t look so good.

“Yeah. I er, just… need some air” he says, pushing off from the bar and heading towards the smoking area. Stiles grabs one of the pre-poured glasses of water from the bar and follows him.

It’s cold outside, the air sends a chill down Stiles spine as he hurries to keep up with Derek who is picking through the bodies with surprising agility. When he finally catches up with Derek the doctor chuckles, relaxing back against the brick wall of the club. They’re at the far end of the fenced off smoking area.

“I haven’t been clubbing in… a while” he tells Stiles, as if it’s some big revelation. Stiles holds out the water to him but he declines. Stiles take a few mouthfuls himself to hide his smile.

“You don’t seem to get out much at all” he jokes, standing just in front of him, watching him with interest and amusement.

“Can’t. Must work. Save arseholes like you”

Stiles laughs, draining the rest of the glass of water, forgetting it was for Derek. “Oi, watch it. I’m taking care of you tonight. Imagine Dr. Deaton’s reaction if I told him his favourite doctor took me to a club and got drunk” Derek’s head snaps up, a look of pure horror on his face, so scared Stiles can’t even find it funny. “I wouldn’t! Oh my god I so wouldn’t!”

“I’m not his favourite anyway” he grumbles.

“Shut up, you totally are. You’re everyone’s favourite. Except maybe Isaac. Kids totally scared of you”

Derek looks up at him through those beautiful, thick eyelashes. “Am I your favourite?” he asks straight and Stiles gulps because yes, Derek is maybe like, one of his favourite people ever, top five anyway, and how had that happened? _)He was totally top 3 but shh)._

“I dunno” he says quietly, maybe seductively. That’s what he’s going for. “You’ve dragged me out here in the cold. That’s not very… _doctorly”_

He’s surprised when Derek’s hands come up to rest on his hips and then are pulling him forwards, flush against his own. Stiles falls against him a little clumsily, their legs slotting together, his hands bracing against Derek’s tight stomach. Oh my god he wants his hands _under_ the shirt.

“Sorry” Derek whispers into his ear, hot breath sliding down his neck, coiling inside the pit of his stomach.

“S’okay” he replies, sounding way too breathy. It’s embarrassing.

Then, Derek’s nose is at his neck, nuzzling softly, and his arms are wrapping around Stiles, forcing their hips together, and Stiles cock is very much aware that it is pressing against Derek, and it likes it. _Really_ likes it. Stiles can feel his blood beginning to drain down towards his crotch already and as Derek’s lips trail up his neck, followed by the soft scratch of stubble, it’s all he can do to stop his hips bucking forward and grinding against him.

“ _Wow. Hello”_ he breathes gently, not wanting Derek to stop but at the same time thinking he should. No. He definitely should. Because he doesn’t know how drunk Derek is and even if he was sober he’s his _doctor._ It’s just wrong, on so many levels. He forces himself to pull back, despite his whole body protesting, and force a smile at the doctor who is now freaking _pouting._ “You okay big guy? I don’t think I’m looking after you so good”

“Stiles” Derek whines, drawing out the vowels, and pushes off the wall, moving his hands to Stiles shoulders and massaging gently. “ _Relax”_

“I never thought you’d be telling me-“ Stiles begins but is cut off by Derek lips on his and wow. _Global warming is over and poverty is no more and all the whales are fucking saved,_ because Stiles knees go weak and heat is erupting in his chest, flowing through his body, and he’s dizzy, wonderfully so. His mouth slots against Derek’s as if they were made for each other, and Derek wastes no time licking into his mouth, and Stiles, Stiles tongue was all over his, drinking the left over residue of beer from his mouth. It had never tasted so sweet. And now his hips _are_ grinding against Derek’s, rutting against him, creating that friction the zaps through his veins and takes over his whole body.

Then they are back on the dance floor, kissing sloppily and grinding against each other and Stiles feels drunk, so drunk.

Then he can’t remember anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know this may seem kind of farfetched. I got the idea from one of my patients who said that at one rehab they go to the pub when they leave and order cokes as a celebration..)


	10. Atenalol - a beta blocker. Can help to regulate heart rate and blood pressure, useful during detox.

When Stiles wakes up he thinks he's at home. He's sprawled, starfish style across the middle of a double bed. His happy thoughts of a bacon sandwich and an xbox marathon are quickly shattered as he remembers he's meant to be at the clinic. On his little camp bed. This is not a little camp bed…

Nervously he pries open his heavy eyelids. There was light filtering through blinds to his left and it made his eyes water. It takes them a moment to adjust but when they do Stiles is hit by an overwhelming wave of panic. He leaps from the bed, in typical Stiles-fashion gets his legs wound in the sheets and falls with a loud thud and multiple swear words, to the floor. He doesn't recognise the room he's in. In fact, he's pretty certain he’s never been here before. He looks around wildly. Not the clinic. Not a hotel. In fact there’s very little to give away who the room belongs to. The bed is massive, the sheets plain white and soft. The bedside table is empty except for a digital alarm clock. There’s built in mirrored wardrobes spanning the majority of the wall to his right and a window to his left, covered by a dark blind. Before he can observe anymore the door flies open revealing a tired and angry looking Derek Hale.

"What the hell, what's going on?" He growls, apparently summoned by the racket Stiles had made falling out of bed. Derek is wearing grey suit trousers and a vest. He has a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and his hair is sticking up in a thousand different directions. He has bags under his eyes and more stubble on his chin than Stiles has ever seen. His eyes, along with a whole bunch of contempt, fix on Stiles who is flailing on the floor because what the fuck..

"Where are we?!" is the first sentence he manages to squeak out. Derek gives him this funny look as if trying to determine whether he's being serious or not. Without seemingly coming to a conclusion he reluctantly bites.

"My apartment" he says flatly.

"Wh-" suddenly his brain begins to grind slowly into action. The last thing he remembers is going out for Allison's birthday. They had gone to a Chinese.. and now he was at Derek's apartment. In bed..

"Wait! We didn't-" he begins to hyperventilate but Derek rests his hip against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest. If he wasn't so menacing he'd look thoroughly adorable.

"No Stiles. We didn't" Stiles relaxes. "Get up"

"Well what the hell happened?" the younger man asks, reluctantly getting up off the floor, pulling the sheets with him, tossing them onto the bed and dropping down alongside them. When he's met with silence he looks up again at Derek who still looks mad, but now there's also a sort of confusion, maybe disbelief, evident on his face. He sighs, dropping his arms to his sides.

"You really don't remember?"

"I don't remember anything!" He enthuses. Because how?

"You got absolutely plastered and I had to take you back here so you didn't choke on your tongue."

"..sounds romantic"

"Well now I've only had three hours sleep and I had clinic this morning and had to cancel two of my clients but the third one I really need to see so you will just have to stay put and don’t touch anything!"

"But I didn't drink anything"

"Yeah try telling that to someone who wasn't there" Derek tells him resigned and turns and leaves. “And I mean it, touch nothing!” Stiles stays for a moment, too confused to move. He hadn't drank though, he was so sure of it. He actually didn't want to drink, especially last night: his first chance seeing Derek away from work. That was something he wanted to remember and be fully coherent for. He scrambles from the bed and makes after Derek, looking around as he does.

"Hey, wait!" He calls.

"I don't have time" Derek flies from what is evidently the bathroom, teeth cleaned and in the process of buttoning a pale blue shirt.

"But I don't understand. I didn't drink anything"

"Well maybe you took something" Derek suggests marching straight into the kitchen and grabbing a piece of wholemeal toast from the toaster, holding it between his teeth he's back over in the lounge, locating his briefcase from beside a black leather couch and his keys in an unused ashtray on the coffee table.

"But I didn't!" Stiles wails, throwing his hands in the air, following Derek back down the hall to the door. The doctor stops at the door, slamming his bag down and ripping the toast from his mouth.

"Stiles I know inebriation when I see it so don't lie to me!" he snarls, pointing a finger aggressively at Stiles chest before leaving with a slam of the front door.

Now alone, Stiles doesn't know what to do with himself, or quite how to deal with Derek's rage. He hadn't drunk. He was so sure off it. But if that was the case, why was he feeling so freaking hungover? Like, he hadn’t felt this bad since the morning after the cast’s hundredth episode party a couple of years back. He'd drunk a bottle of patron, let the studio exec. do body shots from his belly button, slept with Shelley the makeup artists daughter and given head to some guy from lighting. He'd woken up in a bath that belonged to the set of one of the desperate housewives homes that was filled with his own puke. It had been... eventful… to say the very least.  
As if this memory was his bodies queue; his stomach lurches and he has to leg it through the door he'd seen Derek use whilst he'd had the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and thank fuck it is the bathroom because spewing his guys all over the landing would probably classify as 'touching something' to Derek, even though strictly-  
-Nope it was too early even for Stiles brain.

After what feels like a life time his stomach is empty and painful due to every muscle in it being pulled from retching. He collapses on his back against the cool tiled floor, arms falling out either side of him, and glares at the ceiling, feeling like he's sixteen again and angry at the world. He has literally no idea what's going on. Even if he had gotten drunk that was only the half of it. That wouldn't explain why he had ended up back a Derek's apartment. With Derek. He was pretty certain nothing had happened between them. He'd remember that much surely. He'd like to think so anyway. He'd be pretty devastated if he's forgotten something like that. That's another thing. He doesn't remember a single thing after his main course was served at the restaurant and... Scott's proposal! He flails for a minute before he's hit with a sinking feeling of doom. God, he hadn't gone and done something to spoil Scott and Allison's big night, surely? Scott was the first genuine friend he's made in... well probably ever but that was a very depressing thought he didn't have room for right now. But the idea of stealing the guys thunder... He throws an arm across his face and groans.

Ten minutes later he rolls over, coming face to face with the bottom of the toilet. He should probably move. It's not the most hygienic of places to chill. Not that he hasn't spent many a morning after the night before flat out on bathroom floors and this was definitely one of the cleaner ones, but he was meant to have turned over a new leaf. He's just thinking of getting up when a shrill sound makes his heart stop.  
He freezes. Holy fu- The doorbell?! Who was that? The post man? In an instant he's on his feet, flushing the chain and grabbing for a bottle of mouthwash from the mirrored cabinet above the sink. He swills the green menthol liquid around his mouth before realising that actually, he doesn't have to answer. This isn't his house. It's Derek's, and Derek is out. He spits the liquid out feeling satisfied when his ears are met with the even more terrifying sound of a key turning and a lock snapping, followed by the door opening. Someone's breaking in? No, why would they ring first? To see if someone was in? Had someone mugged Derek on his way to work and stolen his keys?!  
Stiles reaches for the nearest thing that could be used as a weapon, the bog brush, which at least looks clean, and jumps out of the bathroom, ready to defend Derek's honour. He shouts as he does it, brandishing his weapon, making the intruder scream. She doesn't, however, look particularly like a burglar. Are burglars usually only 5'5 even in inappropriately high heels, slim, well dressed women in their late twenties with designer purses and do they usually carry toddlers on their hips? Stiles relaxes his weapon arm. "Wh... who are you?" The woman glares, clearly outraged, producing a blackberry from her pocket and waving it at Stiles.

"Who am I?! Who are you! You're the intruder, this is my brother’s apartment and I know he wouldn't want you here. I'm gonna call the police!" She says shrilly.

"No! Don't do that!" Stiles eyes go wide because my god the police involved is that absolute last thing he needs right now! He jumps to make a grab for the phone but the woman has reflexes of a cat and has the phone held high above her head in seconds. Stile contemplated tickling her for a moment, because he's well trained in the arts of attack and defence, but she might drop the drooling kid who's giving him a soppy half smile and he just couldn't deal with the consequences.

"Please, don't call the police!" He resorts to begging, because this is his life. "I can explain!" The intruder, Derek’s surprise sister, slowly relaxes her arm to her side as she snaps.

"How could you possibly explain the fact that you are in my brothers apartment, after he has gone to work, wearing practically nothing, lo-" but suddenly she stops, her composure crumbling, he jaw dropping and her eyes widening. "Unless..." And then she seems to regain control of her features, one eyebrow staying raised in question, her lips pulling into a tight, knowing smirk. "You're... no way!" She shakes her head and marches straight past him, obviously happy that she has the situation sussed out, which is highly unlikely. "Well done lil bro. Didn't know you were back in the game" she says, to herself rather than to Stiles.  
She follows the corridor down to the end where it opens up in the lounge and kitchen, separated by a breakfast bar. She deposits the child on the sofa, wedged in the corner and struts into the kitchen, pulling out a carton of orange juice from the fridge and a glass from a shelf and perching on a stall at the centre counter, crossing one leg over the other and eyeing Stiles with renewed interest. "Interesting choice" she says, again not seeming to be addressing Stiles directly, leaving him unsure of how to respond.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" he asks a little flatly, following suit, pulling a glass out the cupboard he'd just seen the woman get hers from and pouring himself a large glass of oj and dropping down into the stall opposite. She holds a hand to her chest in mock horror.

"Why I'm outraged. Hasn't Derek told you all about me? I'm Laura. The big sister. Which makes this all the more interesting" she flashed him a wicked grin, almost wolfish in nature.

"I'm afraid you're gonna be disappointed" Stiles says, aware this woman, Derek's sister, Laura, obviously thinks she's just stumbled across a great discovery. Either Derek's one night stand dirty little secret or some sort of covert, clandestine relationship Derek had been hiding. "There's really nothing between me and Derek"

"Ahh I beg to differ. There's no way he would leave you alone in his apartment if this wasn't something. Derek hardly ever even let's people in here. Let alone when he's at work. That's why I'm leaning towards something more substantial than a hook-up" Her eyes rake Stiles up and down leaving him feeling utterly violated and very aware that he's only in his vest and a pair of track suit bottoms that presumably belong to Derek.

"No, we're not- I mean, Derek's just-"

"I knew there was someone" she continues, looking most pleased with herself. "I could just tell. Sisterly instincts I guess" she shrugs. "Shame I'm in a rush. I'd love to grill you some more" she threatens, checking her watch and gasping. “Shit” she adds under her breath, downing her glass of orange juice and hopping back up onto her feet, sliding her handbag back up on her shoulder and dumping the juice back into the fridge and making for the door. “Mark my words, this is so not over!” she is calling over her shoulder as Stiles trips over his feet in an attempt to follow her.

“What’s going on?! I.. I don’t understand. I-“ he can feel panic rising as she reaches the door, turning the handle. “What about the child, you’ve forgotten your child!”

“Oh he’s not mine” she laughs, stepping through the door. “Look, I have a meeting with a potential client that I cannot miss so you just need to watch him for like, half an hour. Thank you thank you!” she’s calling, already vanishing down the hall.

“You’ve got it wrong!” Stiles calls after her. He nearly makes to follow but luckily remembers he’d probably get locked out and there is a toddler on the sofa. On Derek’s sofa. Oh god, he feels faint.

 

Derek doesn’t return home for over an hour and there’s still no sign of Laura. Stiles is sat on the floor, facing the sofa where the little boy he’s been deposited. He’s holding both of the kids tiny hands, bouncing them up and down and pulling faces, making the kid giggle hysterically.

“What the…” Derek stops at the edge of his lounge. He looks weary and confused, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up, top button undone, hair sticking up haphazardly, a sign he’d been pushing his hands through it. He has bags under his eyes too.

“Oh, you’re back” Stiles says, not sounding as relieved as he feels.

“And you have a baby…?”

“I… yes. Your sisters-“

“My sister?” Suddenly all the tiredness is wiped from Derek’s face, replaced with wide awake anger. Shit, what had he done now?

“Yeah. She-“

“What do you mean my sister? Wh-… Has she been here?” his eyes are wide with horror.

“Er,” Stiles realises one of the kids hands to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah. She turned up shortly after you left.”

“What, and just, gave you a baby?!” Derek is starting to get red in the face.

“…Pretty much. I… I think she thought I was you boyfriend or something…” he adds quietly. Derek’s face tangles into yet another awful expression of confusion and rage.

“She. Thought. _What?_ ” he pronounces each word clearly as if Stiles was stupid.

“Well I think she thought I was your boyfriend-“

“Get out!” the doctor suddenly bellows, pointing towards the door.

“Huh-“

“Get. _OUT_!” He yells, and marches for the door.

Stiles hesitates for a moment before scooping the child up onto his hip and taking off after him. Derek is in the bedroom, shoving Stiles belonging into a carrier bag with more ferocity that Stiles could have imagined possible.

“Derek I- what’s going on? I don’t understand. I-“

“We went out, you took something, I had to take you home with me to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit. Then my sister came round and you told her you were my boyfriend so she gave you a child, but you’re not, you’re an addict from my work and she’s going to kill me and on top of that I was late to work and I couldn’t focus because I’d only had two hours sleeps because I was so fucking worried about you, even though this is _all_ your fault, so now, you’re leaving.”

It was pretty sad, that was the most he’d ever heard Derek say…

So Stiles walks three and a half miles back to the rehab clinic, in nothing but a baggy tshirt and some loose tracksuit bottoms, carrying a carrier bag of his own pukey clothes. He has no idea what happened the night before or what he’s going to do about Derek but he’s exhausted when he finally gets to his room, and even though its only half five he falls straight asleep, still clothed.


	11. Thiamine - aka Vitamine B1 which alcoholic's are often deficient in due to poor eating habits, vomitting, or damage to the stomach.

A loud rapping at the door startled Stiles out of his snoozing. His body and mind took a moment to acclimatise but then he remembered where he was and the events of the last week he groaned and didn't bother getting up. Week nine hadn’t gone quite as planned. Things were meant to be getting easier but he felt like shit after a week of way too little sleep. Unsurprisingly this didn't discourage Scott who swings the door open and marches in anyway.  


Propping himself up on his elbows, Stiles regards the nurse he'd recently been able to consider a friend. He hadn't seen him since Allison's birthday and he couldn't pretend that hadn't bothered him. He wasn't sure if Scott was annoyed at him for ruining a night that should have been all about him and his fiancé, or if he even believed that Stiles had not knowingly taken anything.  


For the first time since they had met Stiles could honestly stay Scott looked a little nervous. He was pawing at the floor with the toe of his trainer, looking anywhere but at Stiles.  


"Hey" he mumbles, eyes fixated on a far off view point somewhere miles into the forest that spread out through the window behind Stiles.  


"Hey" he replied.   


"Still moping around?"   


The teasing tone in the boys voice was enough to tug an unexpected smile out of Stiles who sits up properly.  


"No one’s talking to me"  


"Even Isaac?"  


"Well, no. Isaac I think tried not to out of loyalty to you but it lasted all of five minutes"  


Finally Scott chuckles and drops his stoic pose, striding over and sitting at the end of Stiles bed. "The kid couldn't hold a grudge if his life depended on it!"  


They both laugh, but then Stiles swallows. "Look, I'm really sorry about last weekend. I swear down I didn't take anything on purpose, but I know that doesn't change the fact I ruined your big night-"  


Scott holds his hands up, cutting him off. "Stop! It's fine. I know you didn't do it on purpose"

"You do?" Stiles asks surprised.

"Of course! I know you wouldn't purposefully ruin our night"  


Exhaling a deep breath, Stiles is just about to relax when another thought pops into his brain which of course he cannot ignore. "Why have you been avoiding me all week then?"

"I haven't! I.. had a couple of days off. Y'know, planning." Then he blushes. "And er, I've been talking to Derek.."

Stiles groans. "Why? He definitely hates me"

"He doesn't. He just.. well you know his story. He finds it hard to trust. And I don't think it's that he doesn't believe you, not really. I think it was just a big slap in the face reminder of why he doesn't trust anyone"  


Stiles nods slowly. It makes sense. It sucks. But it makes sense.   


"You really care that he's upset, don’t you?" Scott says quietly, as if it’s some big revelation. Which no, surely that’s obvious, but it wasn't at all what Stiles expected to be asked.

 

"Er, yeah?" He answers cautiously.   


A tight smiles tugs at Scott's lips and he visibly absorbs this information with a little nod. "Okay. Okay come on then!" And in a movement much more graceful than he'd come to expect from the rather clumsy boy, he was up and tugging Stiles up and out the door.

A minute they are skidding to a halt in the computer room. Scott taps across one of the keypads,  logging in.

"The other night Allison mentioned that she thought she’d overheard someone talking about drink spiking at Jungle a couple of weeks ago" he begins to explain. He opens up a search engine and types in keywords. 'Drink spiked' & 'Beacon Hills'.

"Why didn't you say?" Stiles wonders aloud, leaning forward to read over Scott's shoulder. He's pulled up an article from a local online paper about a rise in incidents in the area, mostly in relation to the uni a few miles out of town.

Scott's fingers still on the keypad for a minute, and his big brown eyes look up at him, searching his face for a minute. He looks very sheepish all of a sudden.

"I... saw the way Derek reacted. I just... it's dangerous for him to get involved with someone. I thought maybe it was for the best you know, if you grew apart a little."   


Stiles can’t help but feel a little indignant at the suggestion Derek is better off without him but okay it’s fair. "We're not involved" Stiles says neutrally.

"You know what I mean"  


"What made you change your mind?"

"Because you were moping just as hard as he was. I was worried before about Derek being more… y’know, attached than you. You’ll be gone one day. But hey, I guess the feeling are mutual yeah?" Scott bounces his eyebrows teasingly and looks back at the computer. Stiles is still for a minute, processing Scott's words. _Involved._ Were they really involved with each other? And what would happen when he was eventually discharged. Would he just never see Derek again? Then he shakes his head and snatches up one of the tablets because if he has to watch Scott trying to do research any longer he's going to shoot himself in the face. How the kid has a degree is a mystery, not that he isn't a good nurse, it's just hard to imagine him writing a dissertation.  

Sure enough, a few minutes later Stiles has found a blog from a student who'd recently been caught out on a night out and another article claiming there had been three incidents recently similar to Stiles.

"So, should I... shall I show Derek?" He asks nervously as Scott reads the article with eyes and mouth wide. He nods slowly.

"Yeah. Just um, be sure this is er.."  


Stiles waits a moment then sighs. "I'm just showing him I'm not an idiot and a liar." He feels the need to point out because Scott's acting really weird. This is purely a doctor/patient thing. Right?

"Yeah. Alright. Good luck!" He beams as Stiles makes for the door. "Oh, the tablets aren't meant to leave-" he begins to call after him but Stiles just waves over his shoulder.

Two minutes later he's marching into Derek's room waving the tablet around. Derek is sat at his desk scribbling in someone’s notes, a deep frown set on his face. He looks tired and stressed but Stiles barely notices.

"Look at this! I found this website, well, blog, and it says two other people have had their drinks spiked at that club in the last two months and this one here has the symptoms of date rape drugs and it was exactly the same as what happened to me-" He taps the screen enthusiastically but when he looks up Derek barely seems to be listening. Just scowling at him with tired eyes. "You're not.. you don't seem interested." He falters.

The doctor sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as if Stiles is the most annoying thing in the world and it almost pains him to have to deal with him. "Stiles, those aren't supposed to leave the computer room!" Derek snaps, getting up and snatching the tablet from him, not once looking at the news article Stiles had pulled up from the Beacon Hills Herald website, striding across the room, putting a good seven feet between them. Stiles rolls his eyes, stalking behind Derek's desk and dropping down into the vacated seat.

"I was just saying" he whines, shaking the mouse to see what Derek has been looking at last, half-hoping it would be porn or something funny but it's just the desk top screen. He sighs dramatically and drops against the back of the chair, making it creak.

Pushing a hand through his dark, almost black hair, Derek growls under his breath, shoving the tablet aggressively yet somehow carefully on the counter that runs most of the length of the room and gesturing crossly at Stiles with his now free hands.

"You are not allowed to sit at my desk!"

Stiles just stares back as if to say 'your point..?' because okay he messed up majorly but if Scott can forgive him then Derek can. It wasn’t even his fault! Exasperated Derek pulls some papers from the patient bed on the opposite wall and tosses them at the desk/Stiles.

"Your results came back. . Flunitrazepam"

Stiles stares at the blood results open mouthed, unsure what any of it really means. It's just a load of numbers and letters.

"Rohypnol"

"Roofies?" He looks up, and suddenly he's smirking. "So I _was_ date raped!" He says way too enthusiastically.

"Stiles you weren't raped! You could have been though. You were very lucky-"

"I told you! I told you and no one believed me! Everyone thought-"

"Look you're off the hook. Dr Deaton said there's be no further actions except I think an officer will swing by later to take your statement, if that's okay with you, so you’re fine. We can drop it"

"I can't believe I've been Roofied" Stiles muses, pretty much ignoring Derek. "It was weird."  


"It probably had a stronger effect on you because you're already on a hefty dose of benzodiazepines"

Derek waits he thinks patiently for Stiles but the kid has started opening up all his paper clips and chaining them together, thinking aloud “this is just like in the hangover..”

He's annoyed he isn't taken this seriously but he can't be bothered to push it. "So, you can go now" he tells him flatly.

"No. No way" Stiles fashions a bracelets out of the colourful paper clips, slipping it on his skinny wrist and admiring it for a moment before meeting the doctors eyes. "Isn't there something you have to say to me?"  


"Leave?"  


"No pouty mc-pout pants. That's not gonna cut it this time!"

Derek shuffles uncomfortably on the spot for a minute, rubbing the back of his neck, but Stiles just waits, suddenly patient. "Fine. Sorry"

"For..-"  


"For not believing you. Okay? We done?"

"Sure!" Stiles hops up from the desk beaming. "Does this mean we can go back to being friends now?" He asks as he passes Derek, heading for the door.

"We were never friends"

The actor grabs his chest dramatically as if he'd his been shot. "Oof, how your words do hurt me!" He cries.   


"Shut up and leave" Derek begins to push him out of the door, Stiles attempts to ground his heels into the floor no match for Derek's 5-times-a-week gym strength but he does manage to wriggle round so they’re face to face.

"We totally are friends" he leers as Derek’s hands spread across his chest and push him backwards from the room.

"I'm your-"  


"Doctor" Stiles finishes his sentence with a shit eating grin. "See, we even finish eachothers sentences"  


Successfully pushing Stiles through the door Derek then attempts to close it but the younger man jams his foot in the way.

"Say it! Say it an I'll go!" He blackmails.

Clenching his fists, Derek growls. "K. We're friends" he grits out with little conviction but Stiles takes it, beaming and removing his foot from the door jam and skipping back off towards his room, blood test results in hand. Where’s Isaac? He’ll be excited about this.

 

 

The next day Stiles is called to Deaton’s office. The head doctor still makes him nervous. Maybe it’s the knowledge that he is the one that signs the slips to the court to say Stiles has completed his rehabilitation and doesn’t have to ‘do time’. Maybe it’s just his distrust for authority figures. Maybe it’s because the doctor reminds him of his dad. Warm, understanding smile or pained, worried frown.

 

“Mr Stilinski, I hear no end of news about you these days, all my staff seem quite taken” The doctor is sat at his desk the same as usual but behind him is a deputy, hard eyes fixed on Stiles.

 

Stiles tries to ignore the police man, dropping down into the chair across from him and leans back, plucking a pen from the desk between them and slipping it between his teeth. “Is that so?” he waggles his eyebrows. His bravado is always layered thickest around people who make him uncomfortable. He treats Dr. Deaton as if he were one of the interviewers continuously trying to pry into his personal life, or a chat show host with a sordid array of his personal pictures.

 

“And how are you finding your time here with us? Now that it’s coming to an end”

 

Stiles freezes. It’s the first time there’s been any mention of his time here ‘coming to an end’. It sets a nervous coiling off in the bit of his stomach. He shifts in the chair. “I’ve enjoyed the break” he shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

 

“That’s good to hear. And how has your rehabilitation been going?”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles isn’t sure if this is friendly conversation or a test. “Smoothly. For the most part. I don’t even _want_ a drink. If you offered me a drink now, I wouldn’t even be tempted. If beer was the only drink left-“ he’s layering it on thick but Deaton cuts him off with that familiar look of amusement mixed with exasperation.

 

“That’s good to hear. Now Stiles I’m sure Dr Hale has informed you that we have got your results back from your blood test after the er, weekend, and you are in no trouble, but I have Deputy Parrish here who would just like a few words with you if that’s okay?”

 

Stiles speaks to the deputy, then stays in Deaton’s office for a long while afterwards, hole-punching and shredding paper work to kill the time because now he can’t stop thinking about the fact he actually has to go home and it’s making him feel sick and if he goes back to his room alone he thinks he might have a full blown panic attack.


	12. Haloperidol - Antipsychotic and antiemetic used for alcohol related psychosis and hallucinations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for mistakes, this chapter was beta'd by me! Also lots of Sterek next chapter, promise ;)

Stiles has two weeks left. That’s what Dr Deaton had just told him. Why that made him feel so miserable was anyone’s guess. Perhaps it was just anxiety. He’d read an article once about people who’d been incarcerated for long periods of time being scared to leave prison, even purposefully misbehaving in order to avoid being released. Institutionalised. Is that what he’d become?

“Don’t you think you’re ready?” Scott asks as they stroll down to lunch.

“No, It… it’s not that. I think I’ve been ready for a while. Seeing… seeing my dad’s face when I got sentenced… that was kind of enough.” He’d made a secret pact with himself then, one he hadn’t told anyone about. There was no point dwelling on it now but put it this way: he would have rather died than continue putting his dad through his drinking.

“I don’t get it then” Scott shrugs, grabbing two plastic yellow trays from the rack and laying them side by side on the counter. “I mean, I know we’re great but usually people can’t wait to leave. And often they have shit to go back to. You’ve got… _Hollywood!”_ he spreads his hands out in front of them dramatically as the dinner lady rolls her eyes,  shovelling chips onto their plates and a fillet of battered cod onto Scott’s.

Stiles waves her no and sighs. “Yeah yeah. I think that’s just it. I’ve got so used to my life here. I… kind of like it” he shrugs, grabbing a bottle of water for himself and Fanta for Scott and following him over to their usual table where Isaac waits with a happy smile. “Everything’s so simple here. An easy life is so underrated.”

“You’re off tomorrow too, haven’t got cold feet like Stiles have you?” Scott laughs, dropping down opposite their other friend.

Isaac’s eyebrows shoot up as Stiles sits down next to him. “Cold feet? You don’t wanna go? I heard _Mila Kunis_ has got a guest roll on your show!”

“Yeah well I’m not exactly on it anymore” Stiles points out, not feeling a slightest hint of remorse.

“Oh yeah. Sorry. But still, I bet you’re looking forward to that first night back in your penthouse apartment overlooking Calabasas. With your queen size bed and seventy-two inch TV!” he says with wide eyes.

“How do you know about that?”

Isaac blushes. “They did an article about it. When you were sentenced” he tells him in a quiet voice.

“Of corse they did.” Stiles chuckles. “And I have an 85 inch tv thank you very much!” He puts on the bravado but he’s not looking forward to it at all. Dreading it even. Being alone in his apartment was the last thing he wanted after nearly three months of no privacy. He wasn’t even looking forward to his bath anymore. They’d got a round of Don’t Stop Me Now going in the showers a couple of days ago and he was eager to try and repeat it. Dining alone. That was another thing he wasn’t looking forward to. Endless meals in silence… Have you ever noticed that nearly all meals say ‘serves two’ on the back? Maybe he could try and persuade Erica to come and stay with him for a bit… He nods slowly. Shit. He really doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t _want_ to go back to the show. But what if he has to? He hasn’t wanted to be on it for months. Hell years, but he’s never managed to get out before-

“Dude” he startled out of his panic by Scott’s concerned voice and the warm squeeze of his hand on Stiles forearm. “Relax, it’s okay. You still have nearly two weeks anyway. We’ll get everything sorted”

“Sorted so I can stay?” he asks hopefully, but Scott doesn’t humour him, his chocolatey eyes wide and earnest.

“Are you sure it’s the place you’re gonna miss, not the people? Because we’re all still gonna be here”

“Yeah and we’ll be seeing you in a month’s time for the wedding” Isaac beams and Scott blush’s.

“Do you… think we’ll still hang out?” Stiles push’s the remaining crispy chips around his plate, avoiding looking at either of them. He wasn’t sure why either of them would want to. There’s no reply, and after a moment he braves looking up at them. They both wear matching expressions of horror. In fact Scott looks thoroughly appalled. He laughs at them. “Really?”

“Oh god, Mr Hollywood big shot too cool to hang around with us lowly folk when he gets out of here?” Scott is teasing him and Isaac is giggling. “Of course we’re still gonna hang out! God, works gonna be so dull without you two here! I forgot what that’s like!”

They finish their dinner and Stiles jogs back to his room to get his notebook before joining the others in the tv room. He’s on his third one now, each filled with his tales from the last two and a half months. They sit on the couch at the far end, Isaac on the floor at his feet, legs stretched out in front of himself, eyes glued to the television, munching on a bag of Haribo. Scott is sat on the windowsill just to Stiles left, textbook on his lap, chewing a pencil. He’s studying for his phlebotomy exams or something. A couple of the other younger residents are with them, a tall thin girl is curled in the corner of the couch buried in a book and  Seth, a ‘Wallstreet failure’ who’d arrived two days before was sat nervously next to her. Two of the guys from Stiles acting class were playing chess on a table by the far wall. Stiles was on the remaining sofa, his trainers kicked off, his feet resting on a stack of cushions. They were watching an old Dracula film. Any films that were over 40 years old seemed to automatically be allowed.

A few others joined them as the movie went on so no one looked up when the door opened and clicked shut quietly for the third time. Stiles hardly registered it had happened, perhaps wouldn’t have at all if it hadn’t been for the little gasp Isaac had given. He drags his eyes off of Christopher Lee (How many times did that guy play Dracula like, really?!) and over to the door, sitting up straight when he spots Derek, looking almost sheepish. The Dr crossed the room.

“Do you mind?” he gestures to where Stiles feet are blocking the last seat in the room.

Stiles clears his throat. “Mmm, sure. Oh!” he almost forgets to actually move his legs. Derek sits down and for the next few minutes everyone in the room seems to be just watching him. The residents often spent the evenings in the TV room and even some of the nurses and auxiliaries joined them sometimes but Derek never had. After a short while everyone went back to the film except Stiles who couldn’t take his eyes off Derek. Luckily he was kind of in view of the television anyway so it wasn’t too obvious. Derek blinks and side eyes Stiles.

“You’re here” Stiles says unintelligently, his voice low. They are to the left of the tv and just about out of earshot of the others if they keep it down.

“Well observed”

“Cool” Stiles nods. “Cool”

They’re quiet for a minute, both trying to ignore each other which is basically impossible because there’s so much unsaid between them. Surprisingly Derek cracks first. “You like it?” Stiles chokes on spit and Derek blushes. “The film! Do you like the film?”

“Oh!” he shrugs. “Meh, I’ve seen it before. Spoiler alert: he bit her, she’s now a vampire too, they stab her then stab him”

Derek chuckles. “Remind me to never tell you what book I’m reading”

“White Noise. I saw it on your desk. You’re still only on the first part but you _have_ to keep reading! Don’t worry, I won’t tell you what happens. So long as you meet all my demands..”

Derek is about to respond when book girl drops her book to her lap and sighs dramatically. “Look if you want to talk can I ask you to leave please? This is supposed to be a quiet room”

 _She’s obviously not one of Derek’s patients…_ Stiles thinks. They fall silent and Stiles swings his legs back up onto the couch and onto Derek’s lap, fully expecting the older man to brush them off but he doesn’t. They fall silent and watch the end of the movie. Stiles doesn’t realise he’s drifted off to sleep until the loud music of the credits jolts him awake. Someone switches the light on and Derek brushes Stiles feet off his lap quickly. The Dr gets up and offers him and hand which Stiles gladly takes. He offers Stiles a surly nod but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth that hints at being a smile.

“See you tomorrow Stiles.” He turns. “Isaac, if I don’t catch you tomorrow, it’s been a pleasure” he offers his hand and Stiles swallows and looks away, not wanting to be reminded.

 

When Stiles wakes up the next morning he has an impending sense of dread lodged heavily in his stomach that he can’t immediately place. Then he remembers. _Isaac_.

He gets up, takes a hot shower and dresses. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was. He’d have liked to have got something for Isaac but he didn’t exactly have the chance. He didn’t get the impression that many people in here bonded as much as he had with Isaac and Scott.

There’s a loud knock at his door followed by a sort of yelp, and then a crash. Stiles hurries over, pulling the door open, only to find Scott crumpled on the floor. He has to suppress a laugh as he helps his nurse up. “Dude, you okay?”

“Yeah” Scott rolls his eyes and brushes himself off. “Anyway come on, hurry!”

“Why?” Stiles manages to just kick his door shut as Scott grabs him by the wrist and starts off down the hallway.

“Isaac’s leaving!”

“What?” Stiles manages to catch his balance, pulling his arm free from Scott and stopping.

“Isaac’s leaving!”

“But he wasn’t meant to be going til the afternoon”

That’s when Scott gets a big grin on his face. “His Aunt and Uncle have turned up! Part of one of the programs here is getting in touch with old relatives and friends you’ve lost contact with-“ he grabs Stiles wrist again and begins back off towards the front door. “You wouldn’t knoe a you never take part in anything” he can’t help but add. “Well Isaac’s mum had a brother. He’s been living in England for the last decade but he’s back now. Him and Isaac have been talking for a while. Not that he had any idea he was going to come and pick him up. He’s offered to let Isaac stay with him and his wife whilst he gets on his feet”

“Isaac never mentioned anything” Stiles frowns. Then again, Isaac never really spoke about himself either. Always about Stiles… He still knew very little about why Isaac was in there. Only what had been hinted. His mom had never really been in the picture and his dad had been abusive.

“You know Isaac”

Stiles nearly trips, totally out of shape and unable to keep up with Scott’s speed. Thankfully his nurse releases his wrist when turning a corner. Scott skids to a halt by the front door and Stiles unceremoniously collides hard into his back causing them both to swear loudly.

Isaac’s head snaps up and a smile the width of Tennessee spreads across his face, “You came!” He bounds back up the steps two at a time and manages to envelope both Scott and Stiles into a bit hug that Stiles never wants out of. He’s not usually one for physical contact (understatement!) but he really doesn’t want to let Isaac go. The kid is unlike anyone in Stiles reality, he represents a youth he never really experienced. Throughout whatever Isaac’s been through he’d somehow managed to keep his nativity and optimism and enthusiasm for the world and Stiles thought everyone could benefit from being a bit more like him.

“Of corse we did you idiot!”

Parked in front of the clinic in the exact spot Stiles had been dropped off all those weeks ago was a large blue _Vauxhall Ampera, and_ stood at the bottom of the steps with his few belongings was a couple who looked to be in their late forties. A short man with a round belly and thinning hair smiled at the boys. He wore a green sweater vest and brown cord trousers. He reminded Stiles of a science teacher. There was nothing of Isaac in him but he looked kind. Next to him was presumably his wife, a pale, shy looking woman with brilliant red hair. Stiles could just picture the three of them sat down to a Sunday roast, the radio playing vintage music in the background, lame jokes and affectionate jibes. ~~Stuff he’d always dreamed of.~~

“Oh my god you’re not welling up are you” Stiles shoves him playfully and they all tousle for a bit until Lydia’s gagging noises remind them they’re not alone.

“Euw guys, get a room!” she declares but there’s a rare smile on her face as she says it. She ruffles Scott’s hair as she passes before holding a hand out to Isaac. The kid just laughs, pulling her into a hug. She squeals and tries to wriggle free but fails.

“So I’ll see you guys all at the wedding?” Isaac is beaming.

“The big reunion” Lydia rolls her eyes, but is still smiling.

Lastly Isaac turns to Stiles. “Take care” he says softly. “Of yourself, and Derek” he adds, and quickly hurries down the stairs, waving over his shoulder. Everyone heads back inside when Isaac’s car vanishes into the forest. Stiles waits and watches a little longer.


	13. Methadone - a powerful synthetic analgesic drug used most commonly in opiate withdrawel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for any mistakes. Feedback encouraged!

It’s strangely quiet the following day. Stiles has to sit through another torturous psychology session in the morning which is the last thing he needs. Harris, despite the blood tests, basically accuses him of overdosing to get attention and Stiles finds himself physically biting his fist to stop himself saying something he’ll regret.

The lunch hall seems unusually unfriendly and foreboding without Isaac’s smiling face. He grabs a bag of crisps and an apple and takes them to his room. He’s alone for a long time and nearly falls off his bed when someone starts knocking unnecessarily loudly. Assuming its Scott he doesn’t bother putting his shirt back on (it’s like 40 degrees outside right now). “Come in douchebag!” he yells, throwing a shoe at the door to try and stop the knocking.

A moment later Derek’s steps through the door, averting his eyes quickly when he spots Stiles lounging half naked across his bed. Stiles jumps up quickly, grabbing his purple t-shirt from the floor and pulling it on clumsily. “Sorry! I thought you were Scott!” he gasps.

“So you often entertain Scott half naked?” Derek quirks an eyebrow and Stiles can’t tell if he’s teasing him or being serious.

He offers a lopsided smile. “You jealous?”

Derek’s expression however is serious. In fact, he looks kind of awkward. God, seeing Stiles shirtless can’t be that traumatic right? He always got extra fanmail on the weeks his character was topless… then again he hadn’t seen the sun or a gym since he’d been here and they all admitted unashamedly to trying to fatten him up.

“What’s that about?” he points a finger and Derek’s frowny face.

“What?”

“Your face”

Derek looks down at the floor quickly. His hands are running over one and other nervously and for a second Stiles feels a bit worried. The Dr looks like he’s about to break bad news. Maybe Stiles is going to die after all. That would be just his kind of luck, to finally start enjoying his life only to die…

“I… “ he begins but stops with a pained expression.

“Sit down for Christ sake, your gonna give me and aneurysm just watching you!”

Derek rather stiffly takes a seat on the rickety wooden chair Scott usually sits in and levels Stiles with an unreadable stare. “You probably remember my sister?” Stiles nods. “Well after… last week… she’s kind of been impossible to shake off. I guess-“ he drops his gaze back to his lap, his long eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. _He looks quite cute._ “I don’t bring people back to my place, well, ever. She can’t let it go and my sister, well you met her, she’s impossible. I’ve tried and tried-“

“Derek! Spit it out!”

“She wants us to go to dinner. The three of us. On Friday. I- are you free?”

Stiles snorts. “It may surprise you, but my social life is not exactly thriving right now. I think I can make it”

“-Maybe if you spoke to her personally and told her you couldn’t come she’d accept it”

“Dude. I met her. She didn’t listen to a word I said. Does she still think I’m your boyfriend? I mean, are you even gay?” Stiles eyes pop wide and covers his mouth as soon as he’s said it. _Shit Stiles, you can’t just ask people if they’re gay!_

Derek looks ridiculously uncomfortable. “I told her you weren’t but it just made everything worse because then she realised she’d left her son with some random guy-“ It didn’t hurt Stiles to hear Derek call him ‘some random guy’. Nope. Not at all. “Well anyway, I know it’s kind of inappropriate, and Deaton couldn’t know about it if we did. I- look forget it” he jumps up but Stiles is just as quick.

“Hey wait up big guy! I haven’t even said anything. _Just like your sister you are”_ Derek looks conflicted and Stiles has to break him out of his misery. “I’d love to have dinner with you and your sister”

Relief washes over Derek’s face, but it only lasts a minute before it’s replaced with something that looks like fear. “well, this is going to be interesting…” he mumbles, shaking his head and leaving. “Least I can make sure you actually eat something” Stiles thinks he hears him say.

 

It was surprisingly easy to fleece Deaton. The Dr was snowed under, they’d had three new admissions in two days and when Derek had said he was gonna take Stiles to sort out some things for when he’s discharged the older man had simply waved his hand and nodded.

That’s how two days later Stiles finds himself at a little Italian down town in Beacon Hills. He slides into the booth, anxiety pulsing through him when he notices Derek slide in to sit next to Laura. Now he feels like he has an audience. Automatically he starts to fiddle, chewing a hang nail, his knees bouncing under the table. Laura looks like she's about to say something, tell him to stop, but luckily that's when the waiter appears.

"Hello, can I get you anything to drink? Might I suggest the house red, it's a Chianti Classico?" He points to it on Derek's menu. Stiles watches him as he opens his mouth to accept but freezes, pale eyes immediately snapping up to Stiles in almost comical terror.

Laura, however, seems intent on testing him. "Sounds fabulous, I'll have a glass" she beams, handing her wine menu over to the waiter and nudging Derek. "You love red?" She encourages.

Derek is still frozen like a dear in headlights, too horrified to snap at her, instead coughing awkwardly. "Er, just a soda water for me" he finally mutters, quickly handing back his menu. The waiter raises an unimpressed eyebrow but nods curtly, turning to Stiles.

"Uh-same?" He blurts out, even though he can't stand soda water. Why did he do that? It tastes like metal and gas and is gross and he hates it. He sighs, shoulders slumping and hands over his drink menu.

"Boo, so boring!" Laura sighs, rolling her eyes. Derek finally seems to find his voice, which thank god because Stiles was beginning to think the surly doctor became completely incompetent around his sister which, turn off!

"Laura!" He growls. "That's not appropriate!"

"Not-why?" She feigns nonchalance, following her brothers eye line over to Stiles. "Oh! Because of- but you said he was better?" She quips, a direct challenge to Stiles. Derek falters.

"Well... yeah- but-" Way to be supportive. Stiles drops back in his seat indignantly.

"It's fine" he waves a hand dismissively. "And if you want a drink  Derek; don't let me stop you"

"But if you're better can't you join us?"

"Laura!" Stiles balks. It had never actually crossed his mind that he could, technically drink. In moderation. Because it wasn't like he'd been addicted to Heroin or something. He had been addicted to alcohol. Normal people drank alcohol. He knew most people went t-total after addiction, but strictly speaking: he didn't have to. His eyes catch Derek's then though, and they're burning straight through him, more threatening than warning. It was a definite no look. He had a feeling that Derek would probably never allow him even a drop of alcohol. As long as Stiles gave him the power that was... Finally Stiles shrugs. "Nah I'm staying clean. But-" he gestures at her and her glass of wine that had been delivered whilst he pondered. "Be my guest".

She pushes her lips together in defeat and nods. "Okay. Test one passed. But it's the first of many" she points her glass at him, taking a sip. "If you're gonna be dating my brother I need-"

"Laura!" Derek admonishes exasperated, his elbow colliding with her ribs hard enough that it must have hurt. "We're not-" he begins helplessly.

"I know I know you're not dating. But you're sleeping together and I know you Derek. You are anything but casual hun" Stiles is speechless. So he grabs a slice of French stick from their complimentary bread basket and shoves the whole thing in his mouth, un-buttered. Laura quirks an eyebrow at him but turns back to her menu. "I'm thinking..." she muses. "Salmon penne a la vodka.."

"I'm starting to wonder which one of you is the alcoholic" Derek grumbles, burying his nose in his menu. It could have almost been a joke, if it hadn't come from him. 

They order, Laura her pasta, Derek a superfood salad (gross), and Stiles 'the biggest steak you have'. "I love coming into posh restaurants and ordering the most expensive thing on the menu. The waiters look so shocked. I always get asked to pay first!" He chuckles after the waiter had elaborated what a 'delicacy' their steaks were and that the price reflected this and maybe he'd rather a burger. Stiles was hoping for a laugh or at least a response but Derek looks stiff and awkward, glaring at the table and avoiding Stiles glance, and Laura is now texting, because apparently table manners are dead. An awkward silence falls upon the table then as they wait for their dinner and Stiles wonders what the point of this meal actually was because other than tempting him to drink Laura seems uninterested in interacting with him and Derek appears to have had a mental break down and is now refusing to acknowledge either of them. Even though Stiles has done nothing wrong. He sighs again, dramatically and Laura does actually look up from the screen, quirking an eyebrow. She then sets her phone down and the devilish look on her face is making Stiles regret all his life choices and most recently: this dinner.

"So, Stiles. Where do you want me to begin?"

"Huh?" She holds a hand out, either side of herself to demonstrate scales.

"Derek, or drink?"

Stiles gulps. "I don't see that either are any of your business-" he tries to challenge but she cuts him off quickly with a narrowing of her eyes and a jabbing of her finger.

"Well as Derek's sole family member it's my job to interrogate and you might think he's too old but he's still my baby brother and seeing as he hasn't dated in ten years.." she folds her arms across her chest in a challenge but that's too much information for Stiles to process and come up with a witty remark so he just sighs and nods.

"I didn't know. Sorry" he concedes. _Sole family member._

"It's okay, don't apologise" Derek mumbles, reminding Stiles he's still there. Fat lot of good that he is anyway.

Their food turns up then, buying Stiles some time. He looks down at his steak and realises he's been thoroughly put off. He saws at it half-heartedly, thinking of a tactful way to answer Laura's queries. He's not sure what she wants to know about 'alcohol', but he knows it's gotta be an easier subject to breach than that of her brother. Who's her only family member. Who hasn't dated in ten years. Who she thinks he's sleeping with but actually he's not...

"I hated my job. Didn't like myself much either. That's not really why I started drinking though. There isn't really a reason. I just did it coz I could" he shrugs, popping a piece of meat in his mouth and wow it is good. It pretty much dissolves on his tongue. Appetite back. "Anyway I hit some guy who was mad at me for hitting on his bird, which I wasn't even doing because like, I'm gay, but anyway, funny how things work out. Hitting him was the best thing I've done in years, coz now I'm like two months clean" he shrugs, popping more steak in his mouth and chewing noisily. _Delicious_.

Laura quirks her head thoughtfully. "You don't think you would have gotten clean if it wasn't for the court ordered rehab?"

"No way" Stiles answers with no uncertainty. He spears three chips on his fork and stuff them into his mouth, talking around them, ignoring Laura's slight grimace. "I mean, not now. Not for a while. Not until something else happened" he takes a large sip of his soda water, forgetting how gross it is, to wash his food down and smiles openly. "It is what it is. But I'm here now and I'm actually happy about it."

Laura takes a while to think about this, chasing the remains of her pasta around her bowl to soak up the sauce. He can feel Derek watching him. He'd looked surprised at Stiles revelation, maybe because he didn't reveal stuff easily, now he was looking at him as if he was trying to read him. "Okay," Laura nods. "So the court orders you to rehab. You come to Beacon Hills, get clean. I can assume Derek's your doctor but I can't understand how that lead you to your little... sleepover?"

Derek sighs, setting down his cutlery and glaring at his sister. "Laura! I'm an adult. I have a spare room. I let Stiles stay because it was easier for him-"

"Derek I-" Laura tries to cut him off, looking taken aback, but Derek seems to have reached his wicks end, shaking his head.

"Look you wanted to get to know Stiles, fine, but you don't do that by interrogating someone!" He told her sharply, getting up abruptly and excusing himself to the loo. Laura did seem rather like she'd watched one too many cop shows... She waits until Derek has disappeared into the loo before turning her suspicious eyes back to Stiles.

"Look," she lays her hands flat on the table in an open gesture. "I'm not judging you. It's not... about your past. Really. It's about the fact Derek hasn't been in a relationship since he was sixteen. His first love messed him up so bad he hasn't ever even been close to committing since." She leans back to take in his expression, obviously hoping to shock, but Stiles kept his expression neutral. He knew Derek had... commitment issues. Okay, he'd had no idea they were that bad... but wait-

"Me and Derek aren't even dating!" He remembers. “He’s straight!” _Probably._

Laura actually snorts. "You don’t believe that! Stiles he hasn't been able to keep his eyes off you all night! You should have seen how nervous he was on the way over to pick you up! I.." she falters then. The first sign of weakness, vulnerability. The first sign that she was just worried about her brother, not set out to devastate Stiles. When she starts again her voice is much softer. "I've never seen him like this. I'm... scared. I thought he'd never trust anyone again... but now it's like, he's got this second chance. And it's you. And do you even realise how big of a deal this is I-" Stiles doesn't have the chance to assure her. He's not exactly sure what he could say to do that anyway, but now Derek is back at the table, looking nervously between the two of them. Was Laura right? Had he been watching him all night? He wasn't exactly sure where they stood. He was still coming to terms with the fact Derek may even be the slightest bit interested in him. He wasn't sure how he felt about the pressure of being his 'second chance' or whatever. He was hardly worthy.

"..nothing! I didn't say anything!"

"You broke him!"

Then Derek and Laura's voices or penetrate his mind and he realises they're talking about him. Staring at him openly as he daydreams, mouth hung open. He snaps awake. "I'm right here!"

"Physically.." Laura mumbles, earning another jab in the ribs. "Well, this has been successful. Let's get the bill, Stiles?"

"I'm never going out with you again" Derek groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. Stiles watched with affection as Derek and Laura squabbled over the bill. It was strange seeing Derek with his big sister. He so often seemed like the person with all the power but with her, she was obviously in charge. And okay, Stiles had been kind of disappointed at first, but now he was just endeared. He was pretty sure that at this point Derek could do no wrong in his eyes. After five minutes of putting down and collecting notes, Stiles throws down a hundred dollar bill, easily covering his meal, the drinks, and some of Derek or Laura's. They both pause for a moment to look at him in surprise, then the bickering continues.

Laura insists Stiles gets out the car and sees her to her door. She has an apartment right in the centre of town. It's not as swanky as Derek's, above a corner shop, but location costs he supposes. "I know you probably think I'm a bitch, but I'm just looking out for him. He's all I got" she shrugs, sliding her key in the lock and turning.

"I... no. I understand. My dad... he was all I had for a long time and I would do anything to protect him"

She gives him a steady stare but she actually looks somewhat impressed. "Well for what it's worth, you're not so bad. Not my number one choice to date my brother, but I think you'll be good for him"

"We're not-"

"Dating. I know. Whatever. See you soon Stiles!" She waves cheerily. Stiles snorts but nods and waves back.

"Okay. An Laura, about what you said earlier? I know what it's like not being able to trust people. It's kind of my life. I won't let him regret it" She pauses just inside her hallway and listens, before turning slowly and offering Stiles a smile unlike any she's exhibited that night. Grateful. Hopeful? He wasn't sure. But it was warm as genuine and it felt like a small victory, even if it was replaced shortly after with a fond roll of the eyes. "Alright. Night!"

Stiles wanders back to Derek's car feeling almost warm and fluffy inside after his and Laura's exchange. Derek has the radio turned down low and his window wound down, watching Stiles as he approaches with an anxious expression.

"God don't look so scared! She's only ya sister!" He chuckles, dropping down into the passenger seat. He says only, he's pretty sure that as far as 'meet the families' go that was a tough one, but he thinks he passed. That's why he's beaming out the window the whole drive out if town and up to the clinic.

Derek parks his sleek black Camaro in the underground carpark and lets them in through the back entrance with his swipe card. Almost all the lights are off inside. It’s only 9:45 but the clinic is mostly quiet, except form the distant sound of the tele in the lounge. To Stiles surprise Derek walks directly to his room and lets himself in. He’d only been in Stiles room a handful of times and he looked out of place. Dressed all in black he stood out against the pale floors and walls.

“You okay big guy?” Stiles enters his room, closing the door quietly behind him. Derek stays with his back to him. He passes across the room, slowly pulling the blind and flicking on Stiles lamp.

“Sorry- thank you- I… Laura, I don’t know”

“Derek” Stiles voice cuts him off. His heart is beating hard in his chest. And not that synthetic alcohol withdrawal anxiety tachycardia. Real, nervous heart racing emotions. The room suddenly feels stifling and his legs feel like lead but he forces himself to move. It had taken Derek two steps to cross the room. It takes him three to get behind him.

“She’s just- I don’t want you to-“ the older man begins again.

Stiles very carefully touches Derek’s shoulder. It was never him to evoke the touch. It was technically assault to touch your doctor right? Derek flinched, but didn’t shake him off. “It’s okay. It was fun.”

Derek lets out an exhale and turns to face Stiles, his eyes trained on the floor. “I’ve gotta go.” He breaths. Their faces are an inch apart.

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow”

He expects Derek to try and shake his hand or something awkward. But he doesn’t. Instead he dips his head and catches Stiles lips with his own. He’s warm, and his stubble scratches and Stiles whole body grows rigid. Butterflies literally erupt in his stomach and who knew that was even a real thing. Stiles mind is in overdrive until Derek pulls back, just an inch letting out a huff of hot breath across Stiles face.

“Don’t stop” Stiles gasps.

“I have to, otherwise-“ his eyes flick inadvertently to the little camp bed in the corner and Stiles knees about go weak.

“Derek-“

“I’m your doctor” he says his famous line.

“Not for much longer” Stiles reminds.


	14. Pabrinex - High potency vitamin infusion. Used to avoid Wernicke's encephalopathy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I will finish this! Nearly there! Thanks for lovely comments and excusing my grammar errors, I will re-read this tomorrow and fix it but in the mean time...

The leather chair squeaks monotonously every time Stiles moves. Deaton’s gaze lifts to meet his over the top of his computer again. He’s trying to stay still. Honestly. It’s just he feels he might explode.

“You alright Mr Stilinski?”

“Yes!” he says a little too quickly. “More than alright. Good. Great! Even…” he trails off as the doctor raises an eyebrow momentarily, before turning back to his computer.

“Right. Well, I won’t be long. Sorry, Dr Hales narrative is, quite insightful” he chuckles.

Yeah that was what he was waiting for. Derek, sorry, Dr Hale, his doctor, had written his discharge papers (TTO – something to do with meds, and Clinical narrative – something to do with Stiles). Dr Deaton was now in the process of agreeing it. Once it was printed and given to Stiles, he was technically a free man. His eyes flicked between the second hand on the clock and Dr Deaton’s face. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. At last the doctor leans back in his chair and regards Stiles again with, perhaps, the hint of a smile.

“You’ve made quite an impression on our young doctor haven’t you Mr Stilinski?”

Stiles feels his cheeks burn. What had Derek written? Surely nothing that had given them away? He lifts a shoulder, he hopes nonchalantly.

“Well, he’s written you a glowing report. And might I say, it’s been… a rollacoaster, as it often is with our more famous guests. But the progression, Mr Stilinski I see a new lease of life in you. It really is the reason we all do this job” he reaches to fetch the paper from his printer. Stiles stands. “You’ll keep in touch, I trust?”

“Of corse sir” Stile beams. “I really can’t thank any of you enough. I know I wasn’t always the easiest…”

“You were by no means the worst”

 

 

Laura was watching them both suspiciously. Stiles was pretty sure she thought she was being discreet but she really wasn't. At one point he genuinely caught her ‘reading’ a travel book 9on her home town no less), upside down, whilst rather indiscreetly peering over it at them.

Stile picks up a snow globe. Inside is a plasticine model of Beacon Hills mountainside and town sign. He shakes it, instead of the usual faux snow a silver and pink glitter storm erupts, enveloping the town before slowly settling. He puts it in his basket for Erica.

“It’s a shame the rehab doesn’t sell any souvenirs” he think aloud, flipping through the t-shirts. Derek gives him a very odd look. He finds a standard white ‘my brother went to Beacon Hills and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’ shirt. “I might get this for my sister, I’ll cross out Beacon Hills and put rehab. She’ll like that” he says, dropping that into his basket too, along with a few friendship bracelets, a tradition of theirs. The only other person he has to buy for is his dad. Usually, he’d get him an expensive whiskey, however this time, it hardly seemed appropriate. “What can I get my dad?” he whines.

“Hmm, judging by the quality of your other gifts..” Derek scans the shelves, lifting, I kid you not, a Beacon Hills whoopie cushion.

Stiles rolls his eyes, punching him playfully on the arm. He then gives it a second thought and grabs for the toy.

“Stiles no” Derek says exasperated.

They browse for a while longer. Stiles tries on an array of hats and sunglasses, much to Laura’s amusement (not all of them were meant to be jokes!) and desperately tries to get a Stetson on Derek’s head but fails miserably.

“I’m not wearing that!”

“But it would look so good!”

“Oh god stop, you two are making me wanna barf!” Laura pulls a face. “Are we done yet? I want to get back and make a start on dinner”

Stiles regards his shopping. Along with the snowglobe, t-shirt and whoopie cushion he’d added a bunch of cheesy postcards, an I heart Beacon Hills thermos, a tea towel with a motif of the hills and socks, of corse. The cashier at Beacon Hills only gift shop totted up his purchases with an amused expression. At first he thought he’d been recognised, but she chuckles as she hands him his receipt, shaking her head.

“Wow, you really like Beacon Hills huh?”

His eyes flick to Derek momentarily. “You could say that”. Laura makes more puking noises in the background.

 

Derek drives them all back to his apartment. The boys are then promptly shooed out of the kitchen so she can ‘work her magic’.

“So er, what do you wanna watch?” Derek asks rather awkwardly. They are both sat on the long couch at opposing ends, as far from each other as they could possibly be. Derek is channel flicking. “You pick” he says, tossing Stiles the remote.

Stiles doesn’t need to be asked twice. He flicks through the menu for a moment before selecting Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.

“Oh my god” he drools, “Look at that burger! That’s like a burger in a burger in a burger!”

“For someone so skinny you like your food” Derek observes.

It’s still kind of awkward between them. Stiles supposes technically this is the first time they’ve been together and not been Dr and patient. He feels like the tension is coming from Derek and once again he finds himself hoping he hasn’t read this whole thing completely wrong and he’s the only one thinking there could be more-

“Ready!!” Laura’s voice is unbelievably loud and Stiles actually jumps out of his skin.

She’d prepared a Thai curry, which was actually amazing. Not that he could admit that to her, he didn’t want her ego growing any more. Her head might actually explode if it got any bigger. He sniggers to himself earning two odd looks.

"Well,” she says after a long while. “I did all the cooking, are you boys gonna clean up?"

"Oh!" Both Stiles and Derek shoot up from the table in tandem. The only difference is Derek is far more elegant and lithe. Stiles nearly knocked his chair over. Laura giggles, clearly pleased with herself.

"Right well in going to make use of your facilities and take a long, leisurely shower, at your expense" she declares, watching them obviously. Neither rise to her bait. She rolls her eyes and leaves.

Stiles collects from the table, scraping what he deems waste away and wrapping up leftovers. Derek runs the taps and rinses the plates before loading them carefully into the dishwasher. They work in quiet harmony but every time Stiles shoulder brushes Derek's as he passes, or their hands touch when passing plates, a tensions seems to build. The air’s thick with it. Stiles actually gasps as Derek steps back and knocks him gently with his hips by accident. "Sorry" Derek mumbles quickly. Stiles stomach actually did a somersault.

"I'm just gonna... pee!" He declares and hurries for Derek's en suite, assuming Laura is in the main bathroom. He doesn't even need to go, he just needed to catch his breath. The window is open in the bathroom and the cool night air takes the heat out of his cheeks. _'Get a hold of yourself man'_ he tells himself. He splashes some water on his face and tries to think rationally about the reason his pulse is racing and he can barely breath. Does Derek really have that kind of affect on him? He knew he had some kind of attraction, feeling for the doctor. But to this extent? Okay, so they're alone together. Out of the public. Derek isn't on duty and Stiles is no longer his patient. But he’d known this moment was coming, since they’d first met or at least since he’d gone out with the staff for Allison’s birthday. But it had just been like the longest game of cat and mouse, and now they were at the end he didn’t know what was next.

There's a soft knock at the door making Stiles jump again. He was going to die young. His heart couldn’t take this. The Hale’s were going to be the death of him. "Stiles... are you okay?" Derek asks, voice muffled through the door.

"Yes! Yes! I'm fine!"

"Okay. It's just you've been in there like, 15 minutes. I thought maybe my sister had poisoned you.." Stiles opens the door. Derek is stood on the other side. He'd obviously been stood close to the door as they were now barely an inch apart. The older man looks more unsure, more vulnerable than Stiles has ever seen him, even that time he'd been drunk at the club, and Stiles just isn't sure what to do with that.

"I'm fine, sorry" he adds bashfully.

"It's getting late.”

Oh great, he wants him to leave? “I should probably get going then…" Stiles would have been hurt if Derek hadn't looked so genuinely upset at the idea. It actually made him smile.

“You… I’ll drive you. You booked the Old Jefferson right?”

"Okay. Hey, this has been nice right?" He asks, shamelessly looking for indulgence. Derek's cheeks pink and he stares intently down at the floor.

"Yeah. Er, I'm glad we got to do this at least once before... y'know"

"Hey what?" Stiles grabs the door frame in one hand as if to steady himself and gestures wildly with the other. "Once? No way! We have to do this again!" Then a thought hits him, just briefly. He’d planned to do this again and again. He thought they had time on their hands now. Unless for Derek this was just some weird fling for him and when Stiles goes he'll move onto the next one. Maybe he deems this part of his recovery. Maybe- he stops himself. "Don't you want to?" Derek scoffs a little.

"Yeah. I just don't actually expect you to take time away from Hollywood to come up here to the middle of nowhere to eat in some crappy food in my tiny apartment.." the 'with me' went unsaid but Stiles still heard it. He frowns as Derek's words sink in.

"Dude, this, I have nothing like this back home. Apart from my family I have no one. I never go out for meals unless its work. I never go over to friends’ houses for home cooked food. You know, sometimes when you're in a crowd of people you don't realise how alone you actually are."

"Well you'll always be welcome back" Derek says dismissively looking anywhere but at Stiles. He has to do something to make him see he's serious. He shuffles forward slyly and rests his body against the doorframe, directly in front of Derek. Their toes are touching.

"Hey" he says so quietly he can barely hear himself over the hammering of his heart and the pounding of the blood in his ears. He reaches up nervously, almost afraid to touch Derek in case he disintegrates or teleports away for him, or something. In case he's actually an illusion because my god up close he's too good to be true. But his fingers connect with real flesh, warm and stubbly as he tilts Derek's chin upwards so their eyes meet. "I'll come back. If you'll have me I will. I promise" Derek blinks, he looks unsure. "Do you believe me?" The older man looks away and to Stiles it feels like a stab in the chest to not be believed but he swallows and takes it for what it is: A guy who's been hurt before afraid to let himself back into that position again. No matter what you or another person may say, you cannot force someone to trust you. Even if they want to. Trust has to be earned.   
"Well then I'll just have to make you" he decides. It's quiet for a minute and he worries, for whatever reason, he hasn't been heard. "Derek?" He prompts quietly, resting a cautious hand on the other mans chest. Derek finally looks up then, making brief eye contact with Stiles before his eyelids fall shut and he closes the gap between them. The scratch of Derek's stubble on Stiles chin sets off all kinds of butterflies as he presses his lips cautiously to Stiles and wow if that's not the best thing ever then what is? Stiles unwittingly leans into Derek, which Derek obviously takes as encouragement. He nips at Stiles bottom lip before opening his mouth with his and exploring Stiles with his tongue. He's gentle at first, curling his tongue around Stiles' and stroking it again and again, making him want to moan and come just from a kiss. The more Stiles reacts, the more Derek grows in confidence, sliding a hand back into Stiles hair and tilting his head back so he can get an even better angle. They kiss wet, hot and passionate for what feels like both eternity and no time at all (probably about 10 minutes) and just when Stiles thinks it's about to go somewhere Derek pulls back. He's a little out of breath and extremely sheepish looking. "Shit" he curses under his breath. Stiles isn't sure if it's an exclamation of how good the kiss was or a curse at how utterly fucked they were. Derek pushes a hand through his hair the way he does when Stiles exasperates him (it's frequent; the poor guy will probably go prematurely bald). He backs up a step. Stiles gets that violent urge to fill the awkward void of silence with words and despite his brain telling him to keep schtm, word vomit happens.

"So, you're definitely gay then..." He was tempted as a joke to make a comment on who had lost the bets the residents had been making on Derek's 'tastes' but it wasn't a joke and he didn't think Derek would appreciate their good hearted fun. Derek looks truly exasperated. It's quite the picture actually.

"Yes Stiles, I'm gay. We have kissed before you know"

"Yeah but you were drunk them and…” he trails off. “Kiss me again”

Derek’s eyes look like emeralds in the bright bathroom lights as they stare at Stiles. “I-”

Stiles cuts him off, leaning up on his tiptoes and planting a brave kiss on rough lips. Derek runs his hands down Stiles sides. His grip is firm but never rough as he gathers the bottom of his plaid shirt and using it to pull their bodies flush against each other. Stiles gulps, yup, he definitely likes him as more than a friend, or patient, or, whatever.

Derek breaks the kiss briefly, resting his forehead to Stiles. “You don’t have to stay at the hotel tonight, I mean, if you don’t want to” he pants, hot breath making Stiles knees feel weak.

“You sure about this big guy?” he asks, because Derek seemed genuinely not to believe they were going to see each other again, and if that was why he was doing this… well to say the least things could be super awkward. But also, Stiles wanted them to do _this_ , if they ever were going to, for the right reasons.

“I… yeah” Derek hesitates.

Drawing in a deep breath, Stiles summons every ounce of will-power he possesses and manages to take a step back, putting a bit of space between the two of them. He feels a cool chill ripple under his shirt. “Er, well, all my stuffs at the hotel. And my cabs booked for tomorrow from there, so”

“Oh yeah! Of corse. Sorry! Well, let’s find Laura so you can say goodbye”

 


End file.
